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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946735">A mirror in my mouth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undisclosed/pseuds/Undisclosed'>Undisclosed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Solaris - All Media Types, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe – Solaris (1972) Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Canonical Past Character Death, Crossover, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Or More Like, but the author is so, neither of the characters is explicitly asexual, no beta we die like people tend to do eventually, no knowledge of solaris needed, space, the untamed characters in the solaris plot, you can always pretend that there is sex-stuff off-camera if you want</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:14:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undisclosed/pseuds/Undisclosed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Give Mingjue my best for me,” said Lan Xichen, just as the ordered cab pulled into the driveway.<br/>
</em>
</p><p><em>Lan Zhan watched it come to a stop underneeth the crabapple tree. The crunch of gravel could only be heard faintly through the window.</em><br/>
</p><p><em>“I will. And you will see him yourself when we return.”</em><br/>

</p><p>Or, Lan Wangji as Kris Kelvin from Solaris (1972)

</p><p>(featuring the Burial Mounds as a sentient planet)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī &amp; Other(s), Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī &amp; Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A mirror in my mouth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, so, this is my first ever fanfic, and also my first ever attempt at writing sci-fi (what happened was pretty much: I saw the Solaris movie, thought <em>well thats basically wangxian except in space</em> and then somehow managed to cough up a 20k+ word fic about it). Which is to say, I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments, but please be kind about it. I would especially appreciate if you let me know if there is something more you think i need to tag or warn for, since I was a bit unsure about that (and, of course, also if something is offensive in any way).</p>
<p>So, plotwise this is based on Solaris, specifically the 1972 film since I haven't seen the newer version or read the book (which means I will have made up my own explanations for the things that are not explained in the movie regardless of whether or not they are explained in the book, sorry). For those of you who haven't seen the film, this means that it does get rather uncomfortably existential at times. Heed the warnings in the tags, and if you want to be extra safe, check the more SPECIFIC SPOILERY WARNINGS IN THE END NOTES.</p>
<p>Title is from the song by Jenny Hval &amp; Susanna from the album Meshes of Voice, which I listened to A LOT while writing. It is absolutely amazing and also has a kind of bodilyness(?) to it that feels very wwx to me.<br/>(also, I really liked it as a nod to the “language as a mirror of the mind” idea)</p>
<p>My eternal gratitude to BeethovenFuntime for your much needed encouragement and general existence.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lan Zhan leaves the Earth on a Friday, just before spring is about to begin in earnest. On the trees he passes during the four hour cab ride to the station, the leaves are just starting to break out of the buds. The sun isn’t out, which is somewhat disappointing. Lan Zhan would have liked to say goodbye to it.<br/>
His brother had asked to go with him to see him off, but Lan Zhan declined with a shake of the head. His memories of his brother belong in the country house in Jiangsu, and in the silent halls of their childhood. There is no need to taint them with the sterile ugliness of the interstellar station.</p>
<p>“Give Mingjue my best for me,” said Lan Xichen, just as the ordered cab pulled into the driveway. Lan Zhan watched it come to a stop underneeth the crabapple tree. The crunch of gravel could only be heard faintly through the window.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I will. And you will see him yourself when we return.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“That is true. I have missed him. And I will miss you, little brother.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“It is only a couple of years,” said Lan Zhan. He felt somewhat stressed by the cab waiting outside, by his bags stacked neatly by the door, and perhaps spoke more shortly than he would have liked. His mind was already in the cab, in the shuttle, arrived at the JGRS. Lan Xichen, as usual, only sighed and smiled.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So it is. Well.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He turned to Lan Zhan, clearly allowing him to make his final goodbye, and Lan Zhan found himself suddenly not wanting to leave. He hesitated. Lan Xichen looked at him expectantly but without prompting, leaving him all the space he might need. He always was the considerate one, the perfect example of an older sibling. Sometimes Lan Zhan resents him for it.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Will you…” he started. “Will you make sure Sizhui has everything he needs?”<br/>
</p>
<p>He already knew this. They had talked about it at length and worked it all out to satisfaction. Lan Zhan was stalling and he hated it.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I will. And I will visit him as often as I can manage, I promise.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nodded, and then there didn’t seem to be anything more to say. Xichen looked at him and knew, like he always has. Nearly always.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Take care, little brother.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“You too. Goodbye, brother.”<br/>
</p>
<p>They did not hug. Lan Zhan carried his bags to the waiting cab with the sound of crunching gravel filling his ears, and wished, nonsensically, that the sun was out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>By interstellar standards, the trip is a short one. Had that not been the case, Lan Zhan would have been assigned travel companions. Even as it is, making any sort of interstellar journey alone is not exactly protocol, but Lan Zhan has been around for long enough to have made himself a reputation as someone who can, and should, be trusted to handle things on his own. It suits him fine; without the distraction of colleagues, he gets to focus on getting the job done efficiently and in the way he deems best, and the average results are good enough for them to let him keep doing it. It’s the most freedom he can hope to get in his line of work, and he appreciates it for what it is. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The shuttle has no windows, and just enough room to stand and pace a few steps to prevent his muscles from cramping up. He spends most of the trip sleeping, or meditating. At one point, a few days before his scheduled arrival, he has a strange dream about his mother, except she doesn’t seem to know him, and as he stares, he realises that he doesn’t know her either, that it is not his mother but a stranger sitting serenely by the table inside the Jingshi, and he feels a deep, irrational shame that doesn’t fade for a long while even after he wakes up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The International Interstellar Logistics and Research Administration (IILRA), the organization responsible for giving Luanzang its rather ominous name, has known about the planet’s existence for over fifty years ‒ nearly since the beginning of interstellar exploration ‒ but it was not until some twenty years ago that a group of researchers with proper funding took an interest and a more thorough examination of the planet could be initiated. Piotr Afanasyevich Tsiolkovsky, Russian astrophysicist and philosopher, was the first to raise the question of sentience, for which he was at first ridiculed but later awarded a special medal of honor from the IILRA, <em>I assume</em>, he said in later interviews, <em>as a sort of peace offering</em>. After four years of investigation, the designated team delivered a report in which they presented their gathered evidence and estimated the likelihood of sentience on Luanzang high enough to be worth investigating. A new, larger on-site research station was built, and two and a half years later the first attempts at communication were made. The whole endeavour was financed by entrepreneur and billionaire Jin Guangshan, and the research station was named after him as a show of gratitude. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When the shuttle docks, Lan Zhan tries to stand and finds his legs buckling under him. Embarrassed despite the fact that no one is there to see him, and slightly angry with himself for being embarrassed, he stretches carefully and rolls his neck a couple of times before attempting to stand again. The skin on his chest itches and pulls and his upper back is tense from lack of movement. Once he is on his feet, he gives his sense of gravity a moment to orient itself, and when he is certain he will not fall over the second he leaves the shuttle, he opens the door. The light in the hangar is piercing, bouncing off of every white tiled surface and making his eyes water before they get a chance to adjust. That is why it takes him a moment to register the lack of other sensory input. The area is deadly quiet. He blinks the tears away and peers around. The hangar is, as far as he can see, empty. He steps carefully out of the shuttle and closes the hatch behind him. His bags are still in the luggage hold but he decides to leave them for the moment, at least until he knows where his sleeping quarters will be. There is no use dragging them around with him. </p>
<p>Inside the station proper it’s quiet too, except for the hum of generators some distance away. It reminds him of the sound of the fridge back home in his brother’s kitchen, that sort of nearly imperceptible buzzing you only notice when everything else is completely silent. Even his own breathing sounds loud to his ears.<br/>
He was expecting to be greeted once he arrived, if perhaps not enthusiastically, and the emptiness of the corridor unnerves and irritates him. Did they not get the notification? Lan Zhan is, generally, a quiet person. He does not like the thought of needing to raise his voice. He wishes, nonsensically, that there were some kind of bell he could ring to announce his arrival, but of course there is not. This is the outer corridor of the JGRS, not someone’s front steps back on Earth. He clears his throat, once, then twice.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hello?” he calls, as loudly and clearly as possible. He would really prefer not having to repeat himself.<br/>
</p>
<p>He listens for a few seconds. The hum of the generators is still there, along with an occational clicking sound Lan Zhan cannot identify. Nothing to suggest that there are people close by. His chest and upper back feel tight again, the way they sometimes do when he is tired or overworked. Ridiculous, he thinks. The assignment has hardly even begun.<br/>
The corridor stretches white and anonymous in both directions. He picks a direction at random ‒ left ‒ and starts to walk. His steps echo faintly off the empty walls and ceiling, almost as if there was someone walking ahead of him, just out of sight behind the curving wall, but when he stops and listens all is quiet. It should not be too late here, according to his shuttle dashboard ‒ late afternoon or early evening at most ‒ but the fumes emanating from the planet’s surface are curiously light absorbing and efficiently block out any lingering light after the sun has set. Through the round windows lining the outer wall, all he can see is blackness. </p>
<p>There is a faded map of the emergency exit routes hanging on the wall perhaps fifty metres down the corridor. Lan Zhan studies it for a while, searching it for any common areas where people might gather when not in their cabins. There are only three people on board at the moment, excepting Lan Zhan himself, and the station, made to house at least a couple of hundreds, is not small. Common areas, like the mess hall, are the obvious place to start looking, unless he wants to knock on the door of every cabin and laboratory in the entire station. He scans a copy of the map to carry with him and continues down the corridor, idly wondering if the crew are hiding on purpose.</p>
<p>It is not the first time his reception has been less than enthusiastic. Lan Zhan’s work title is, officially, <em>psychologist</em>, and he does have a psychology degree, although what he does bears very little resemblance to the work of a psychologist back on Earth. His aim in understanding people is not to help them better understand themselves; his role here is rather that of a communicator, or, when necessary, a persuader. The goal, as his work description puts it, is for him to act as an extension of the IILRA in remote locations where other means of communication are not easily available, and to make sure that the decisions of the IILRA are understood and carried out in a way suited to the specific circumstances of the location. In practice, this means that he is allowed to act against the given instructions if the situation calls for it, but he is always to serve the best interests of the Administration, and he will be held accountable for any decisions he makes that in any way impact the desired outcome. If he sees no alternative or if the situation threatens to become dangerous, he is allowed to use his guqin. He prides himself on very rarely having to.<br/>
It is not what he was expecting his life to be like, back when he was at university, but it is not bad. He has made his peace with it, as with most things. His uncle likes to state that Lan Zhan has grown out of his idealism. Lan Zhan himself thinks he has just grown tired.</p>
<p>The library is empty, as is the mess hall. Lan Zhan notes that neither of the areas seem to have been cleaned in a long time. The mess floor is grimy with spilled food, and there are dirty plates and cups on most of the flat surfaces. Lan Zhan shudders to think how long it must take for three people to produce that amount of dishes. He even starts considering doing something about it before he gets a hold of himself. Washing dishes is not his responsibility, nor will it help him achieve what he came here for. The scar tissue on his chest itches, and he can feel a tension headache approaching, creeping up his neck. He turns to leave the mess hall and catches a glimpse of movement just outside the door to the inner corridor, something dark disappearing behind the doorpost before his eyes have time to focus, and he is walking over before he fully has time to process what he saw. He turns the corner, expecting to see someone there, but the corridor is empty. Lan Zhan contemplates calling out again, but doing so makes him feel silly, and there is clearly no one there. He rubs a hand over his face, gently massages his right temple. <em>Get a hold of yourself</em>, he tells himself inside his head. He rolls his head a couple of times, making his neck pop satisfyingly, then straightens his spine and heads down the curving corridor, lined with innumerable anonymous cabin doors, toward the crew gym. A couple of times he thinks he hears steps ahead of him, but he knows by now it is only the echo.</p>
<p>In the end, he finds someone before he gets to the gym. One of the cabin doors ‒ bare, shiny aluminium ‒ is wide open, blocking part of his view of the corridor. Just as he rounds it to look inside the cabin, he catches movement further down the corridor again, and this time he manages to get a better look. It is, indeed, a person. They are lean, almost thin, and dressed in black, with something red trailing down from their hair, swaying as they move. Lan Zhans scar throbs painfully, making his vision blur, and he has to grab hold of the open door for a moment until it passes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh,” says a voice from inside the room.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan blinks and looks quickly down the corridor, but the person in black has already disappeared out of sight. He turns to look at whoever spoke. A man is standing just inside the door, holding a used teabag by its thread. It is dripping, slowly, onto the floor.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hello,” says Lan Zhan, and, when the man doesn’t respond, “Are you Dr Noos?”<br/>
</p>
<p>The man stares at him. Lan Zhan notes that his clothes are badly wrinkled, almost as if he had slept in them. Lan Zhan clears his throat quietly.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I am Dr Lan. I am a psychologist for the IR branch of the IILRA. Did you not get notified that I would be arriving?”<br/>
</p>
<p>The man stays silent. Lan Zhan knows about silence as a conversational tool. He often uses it himself, as a way to appear calm and collected, or to give an impression of knowing more than he is telling, or sometimes simply as a way to unsettle his conversational partners. He does not know if this man is using it consciously, and if so for what purpose. Lan Zhan has trouble reading his face. He might be surprised, or indifferent. He might be outright hostile. It unsettles Lan Zhan that he cannot tell. He lowers his voice slightly and tries to make it as smooth as possible. His throat is curiously dry.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I am sorry if I startled you. I did not mean to. The door was open.”<br/>
</p>
<p>The man laughs drily, without looking away from Lan Zhan or changing his posture in the slightest. It is unnerving.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes,” he says, “the door was open. Of course.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He unfreezes, almost startling Lan Zhan who had begun to grow used to his stillness, and moves jerkily towards the right as if to dispose of the teabag, but seems to change his mind halfway through the movement and stills again. The teabag swings back and forth from his hand, scattering a few more drops.<br/>
</p>
<p>“The <em>door</em>,” he enunciates. “They all open outwards, did you know that? It’s for <em>safety reasons</em>.”<br/>
</p>
<p>His voice draws clear air quotes around the words.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Apparently, if there is an emergency, we will panic and forget how to open a door, or so the theory goes at least. And so, they say, unless all the doors open outwards, towards the exit that is, we will all be trapped inside our cabins, clawing at our unlocked doors.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He raises his eyebrows at Lan Zhan, as if asking for a reaction. Lan Zhan nods carefully. He knows about on-site safety measures.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It’s all a load of shit, really,” the man continues, seemingly more to himself than to Lan Zhan. “If you can’t even remember how to open a bloody door, how the hell are you supposed to handle the emergency, huh? Can you manouver a shuttle then? How are you gonna get off this bloody planet? Right? It’s all a load of shit.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan says nothing. The man stares at him for a moment before shaking his head; whether in response to some unspoken opinion he percieved from Lan Zhan or to shake himself out of some mood, Lan Zhan cannot tell.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You ought to be tired,” he says, nearly conversationally. “Go pick yourself a cabin. There’s lots to choose from.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He laughs humourlessly. Lan Zhan swallows before speaking to make his voice stop scratching.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I should see the other members of the crew. Do you know where I can find them?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Schneider is in his lab. You won’t get to him unless you kick the door down.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“And Dr Nie?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Dead.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan blinks. It takes him a moment to recover his speech. Dr Noos seems to find this amusing.<br/>
</p>
<p>“…dead?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Dr Noos shrugs.<br/>
</p>
<p>“How… did it happen?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Killed himself,” Noos responds promptly, looking almost gleeful about it.<br/>
</p>
<p>“That cannot be.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan is certain about this. Noos raises his eyebrows.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Really? How so?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan swallows.<br/>
“I knew him. He wouldn’t‒”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh, but he would. He would. He did. People change, you see. As you will definitely see.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan has no words. He keeps his face impassive as he searches for some way forwards from here, when all he can think is <em>Brother will grieve</em>. Nothing is making sense. He clears his throat. Noos looks at him expectantly.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I… would still see Dr Schneider. As soon as possible.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos is shaking his head before he has finished speaking.<br/>
“There is no use, my friend. You better wait til’ morning. You’ll see him then. Now it’s bedtime for all the little psychologists.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan is too experienced, and too far above Noos in the IILRA hierarchy, to bristle at this. It seems to make Noos somewhat disappointed. They stand in silence for a few more moments while Lan Zhan considers his options. He decides, finally, to go along with Noos’s suggestions for the moment, since it seems like the easiest way. Tomorrow he will get started on this tangle and hopefully he will soon have it all sorted out. He nods a goodbye and begins to turn, but hesitates. Noos raises his eyebrows.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Is there… anyone else? Here at the station?”<br/>
</p>
<p>He thinks he sees Noos stiffen slightly, but it might be his imagination, because the next moment he is shaking his head and laughing to himself.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Is there anyone else, he asks,” he mumbles to no one in particular. “Well, isn’t that…”<br/>
He shakes his head and smiles sardonically.<br/>
“Why don’t you go find yourself a cabin, doctor Psychologist.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lan Zhan chooses a cabin along the outer corridor, far from Dr. Noos’s quarters. It may be irrational, but he does not like the thought of going to sleep anywhere close to the man. The cabin doors can, to Lan Zhan’s relief, be locked from the inside, and only from the inside. He does not necessarily expect either of the crew members to actively try to harm him, but during his years in the Administration he has learned to be careful, and the news of Nie Mingjue’s death shocked him more than he likes to admit to himself. Lan Zhan personally was never that close with him, but his brother and Mingjue had the rare type of childhood friendship that manages to survive into adulthood. The type of friendship Lan Zhan himself might have had, had things not happened the way they did. Lan Zhan is confused and a little frightened, and deeply sad for his brothers sake, but there is also a part of him, a mean and bitter and selfish part that he normally tries to push down, that thinks <em>Good</em>. That thinks <em>Let him know how it feels</em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sleep is elusive, even with the jetlag and the bone-tiredness that comes with sudden change of circumstances. Lan Zhan dozes off several times only to wake with a jolt half an hour later, sweating and disoriented and still in the clutches of some half forgotten dream. At one point he is certain he hears someone whistling a well-known melody, slightly out of tune. Another time he opens his eyes, or at least thinks he opens his eyes, to the sight of someone sitting on the pulled out desk chair, looking away from him and combing their fingers through their hair. A red silk ribbon hangs discarded over the back of the chair, glinting in the low light from the desk lamp. <em>Wei Ying</em>, Lan Zhan says, or thinks he says, and the figure startles and turns to him. Lan Zhan half expects the face to be distorted in pain or turned unrecognizeable by some horrid scream, the way he sometimes encounters it in his nightmares, but it is not. It is simply Wei Ying’s face, the way he remembers it, surprised and then smiling Wei Ying’s smile, a little teasing, a little sad. <em>Go back to sleep, Lan Zhan</em>, it says. <em>It’s way past your bedtime</em>.<br/>
<em>Mm</em>, Lan Zhan thinks, and does. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he wakes in the morning, it is later than he is entirely comfortable with, and his head feels thick and heavy almost as if he was coming down with a cold. He rubs his hands over his face, pressing his fingertips into the acupoints around his eyes and nose until his mind begins to feel clearer and breathing comes easier. The desk lamp is turned on low, as it must have been all night. Perhaps that is why he slept so badly. It is not like him to forget to turn out the lights, but then again he was feeling paranoid after his conversation with Noos. He might have left it lit on purpose. The night before is a slippery thing, swimming out of reach when he grabs for it.<br/>
He dresses slowly, feeling as if he is moving through water, or like he is still dreaming. Even with the ceiling lights turned up high, sleep does not seem to wish to fully let go. At one point he finds himself staring unseeingly at his desk chair, his right boot held forgotten in his hand. He shakes himself and focuses his eyes. There is a red ribbon hanging over the backrest. In the harsh ceiling lights it looks paler and less shiny than he remembers it from his dream, but it is there, and real, and doesn’t disintegrate between his fingers when he picks it up. There are clear creases from the knot where it has been tied in someone’s hair. He searches the length of it, then turns to the chair to carefully brush the tips of his fingers over the back ‒ and yes, there are hairs. Long, dark, slightly misshapen from being tied up. He searches the chair, and then the floor, finds and gathers them all in his hands. At first he is going to put them in his pocket, but he changes his mind and winds them carefully around his index finger instead. Then he picks up the ribbon and lets himself out of his cabin. </p>
<p>He finds Dr Noos and Dr Shneider, not in the mess hall, but in the smaller lounge area, where a pot of coffe is resting on a portable heating plate on the pool table. They both look over when he enters the room.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ah,” says Noos, “So you’ve deigned to join us.”<br/>
He gestures at the coffee pot.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Help yourself. Or perhaps you people only drink tea?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nods his greeting instead of answering, and then turns to Dr Schneider, who is regarding him with a blank expression.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Dr Schneider. I am Dr Lan from the IR branch of the IILRA. I am‒”<br/>
</p>
<p>“You are the psychologist, yes, I see,” Schneider interrupts.<br/>
</p>
<p><em>So they </em>did<em> get notified</em>, thinks Lan Zhan, unsurprised. He nods.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I suppose you heard about Dr Nie?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I did,” says Lan Zhan carefully.<br/>
Speaking less rather than more is often the most efficient way to encourage others to talk.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hardly a surprise,” says Shneider.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan waits, but there seems to be no more forthcoming.<br/>
</p>
<p>“How so?” he prompts.<br/>
</p>
<p>“<em>You</em> ought to know.”<br/>
He gestures at Lan Zhan’s hand, where the ends of the ribbon are trailing almost to the floor.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I take it you’ve had a visitor.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan swallows. His pulse throbs where it’s restricted by Wei Ying’s hair wound around his finger.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Is it…”<br/>
</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how to finish the question. Noos barks a laugh.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You’re asking as if we’d know! <em>You’re</em> the psychologist here, aren’t you?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“We do know some things,” Schneider interrupts him. “They are solid. Made of matter. They are not simple hallucinations.”<br/>
He nods at the ribbon in Lan Zhan’s hand.<br/>
</p>
<p>“But I guess you already figured that out. And they are all people we knew back home, so it seems to pluck them out of our memories in some way. Or perhaps from our sense of guilt.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“…guilt?” asks Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Who was yours?” Noos says suddenly. “Who’s your visitor?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“A… friend. He is… He has not been alive. For thirteen years.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I see,” says Noos. “Did you try to get rid of him?”<br/>
</p>
<p>At Lan Zhan’s uncomprehending look, he elaborates:<br/>
</p>
<p>“We tried killing them a couple of times. Or, your friend Dr Nie did. They just popped back into existence, no matter how many times he did it. I think that’s when he started to really freak out.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan swallows again.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I… did not.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ah,” says Noos and doesn’t follow it with anything.<br/>
</p>
<p>The room is silent for a while, except for the hum of the generators and something that might be footsteps in a distant corridor. If the other two hear it, they choose not to comment on it.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m leaving,” Schneider announces and starts heading for the door.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan considers stopping him, but an outright command like that is bound to make someone lose face, and he is not entirely sure it would not be him. Instead he calls:<br/>
</p>
<p>“Dr Schneider. If you do not mind, I would see you in your lab later.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well, I guess you do as you wish,” says Dr Schneider over his shoulder, and then he is gone.<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos pours himself another cup of coffee.<br/>
</p>
<p>“He’s not very friendly, as you see,” he says.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan makes no comment. Noos holds out the coffee pot towards him with a questioning look.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No, thank you,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos puts the pot back down. There is a ring of burnt coffee on the heating plate.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So,” says Noos, “how are you finding this place so far?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I will need to write a report,” says Lan Zhan. “Of these… apparitions. And of Nie Mingjue’s death. Any details you can provide‒”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes, yes, of course,” Noos interrupts, “you’re very diligent. Do whatever you have to. Just write it was a suicide, right?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” says Lan Zhan, “but that is not good enough.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“No?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos looks almost amused. Lan Zhan stares him down.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos waits a moment, but when he sees that Lan Zhan isn’t going to budge, he sighs a little.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Look, it’s not that I don’t want to cooperate, me and Schneider both, just, we’re a long way from home, you know what I’m saying? I don’t know if you really get that.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I usually work a long way from home,” says Lan Zhan. “This is hardly the most remote place I’ve been.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos rolls his eyes a bit.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m not talking about distance. But no matter. You will get it soon enough anyway. For now, why don’t you go get yourself some breakfast or tea or whatever, huh? We’ll talk more later.”</p>
<p>Lan Zhan walks slowly towards the kitchen area, the echoes of his boots on the tiles keeping him company and tempting him to imagine another pair behind him, hurrying to catch up: <em>Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan wait for me</em>, the steps drawing nearer, almost-but-not-really running. An arm slung over his shoulders, the smell of coffee and sweat and living, breathing body. This is how memories happen: involuntarily and in flashes, when he is looking the other way. After years of careful training and meditation he still cannot fully control how his brain links new sensory impressions to previous knowledge, and things slip out through the cracks no matter how hard he tries to keep them locked up and safe. It is impossible to observe something without affecting it in some little way; this holds as true for the human mind as it does for physics. Every time a memory surfaces, it is contaminated with the current sensory input and acquires another layer of information on top of the already existing ones. It is even worse in sleep, when he is not consciously there to guard the doors in his mind, and the dreams pull out the memories he is trying to protect and twist them up with others, write them over with new ones. Much has already been spoiled this way.<br/>
He very seldom allows himself to remember with purpose. When he does, he makes sure both his mind and his surroundings are empty and silent, and he commits himself fully to the chosen memory and nothing else. Still, he knows he cannot avoid contamination completely. Memories, like archaeological findings, are best preserved when they are left in the ground.</p>
<p>In the kitchens he makes himself a cup of tea and sips it while he waits for a couple of frozen buns to thaw in the microwave. When he bites into them they taste like the plastic wrapping they came in. Lan Zhan wonders how long it has been since Luanzang last had provisions delivered. Perhaps these buns were intended for the crew of two hundred that this station was built to house, back before everything went pear-shaped. Judging by the taste, the buns could well have been in deep-freeze for the past ten years. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The situation on Luanzang, while it was happening, gathered a lot of media attention and became something of a hot topic back on earth. The surviving pilot, Aoi Abadi, agreed after her return to be interviewed briefly in national television, and the clip had spread around the globe within hours of its broadcast. Quotes, both real and fake, were circulating on social media and speculations were flying, accusing Abadi of everything from being a lunatic to being an American spy. Some conspiracy theorists even went so far as to suggest she was an extraterrestrial in disguise, but the theory did not gain many followers.<br/>
Lan Zhan himself, at the time, was too caught up in grieving and learning to be a parent to have much energy for things like watching the news. Everything he knows about the matter he has learned from academic papers in later years; at the time, he was hardly aware that it even happened. The first few years after Sizhui came into his care are a blur of crying child and crying adult, sleepless nights and dirty laundry. Sizhui regularly wet his bed until he was seven, and every time it happened he would cry and apologize and Lan Zhan would have to change the sheets and then sit with him in his arms and rock him until he stopped crying and fell back asleep. Lan Zhan could never blame him. He had nightmares too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Schneider’s laboratory is in the outer corridor, on the far side of the station from Lan Zhan’s cabin. Noos marked it out for him on his copy of the emergency route map at Lan Zhan’s request, along with some other important locations: Schneider’s cabin, what used to be Nie Mingjue’s cabin. The freezer room containing Nie Mingjue’s corpse. Lan Zhan is not a medical professional; he cannot perform an autopsy on his own. But he will check to see that the corpse is really there, and that it has no clear signs of outer violence, and he will start planning for a way to bring it back to Earth with him for a proper autopsy and subsequent burial. Noos raised his eyebrows when he mentioned it, but Lan Zhan stood firm. The cause of death will need to be determined properly (“I already told you, it was suicide,” said Noos) and the body belongs to the family of the deceased. Nie Mingjue had no living older relatives as far as Lan Zhan knows, but he had a younger brother he was very close with. Nie Huaisang is waiting at home, expecting his brother back within a couple of years. The least Lan Zhan can do is give him something to bury. </p>
<p>There is no answer when Lan Zhan knocks on the door of the lab. He knocks a second time, harder, and something hits the door from the inside with a loud bang.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Dr Schneider?” Lan Zhan calls.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Fucking calm down, will you!” Dr Schneider’s voice calls from inside, slightly muffled by the door. Lan Zhan doesn’t know if it is in response to his knocking or to whatever is causing the noise inside. When the door finally opens, Lan Zhan is half prepared to pull out his guqin, or his gun if needed, but Schneider sneaks out and closes the door behind him before anything else manages to escape. He stays with his back to the door and his fingers closed around the handle. Whatever is inside the lab bumps against the door a few more times before calming.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What,” says Schneider.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I came to see you,” says Lan Zhan. “Like I said I would.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Huh,” says Schneider noncommittally.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What is in there?” asks Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What do you think?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan says nothing. After a minute of silence, the sound of something falling over inside the lab is immediately followed by a short, high-pitched squeak. Schneider winces.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It is breaking things,” Lan Zhan observes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes,” Schneider agrees.<br/>
</p>
<p>They listen for a while longer, but there are no more sounds from within.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Have you seen the corpse yet?” Schneider asks.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Not yet.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Right, what’s the hurry. Not like it’s gonna get up and walk off, is it?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan inclines his head.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So,” says Schneider, “what did you want, then?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I was hoping to see some of your research.” He glances at the now quiet door. “Perhaps I caught you at a bad time?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider actually laughs at that.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Every time is a bad one here, Dr Lan. But you’re right, I’m not letting you into the lab.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Now?” Lan Zhan asks. “Or ever?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider is still smirking a bit.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh, that depends. Is it you that wants to know? Or the Administration?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Can it not be both?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider purses his lips for a moment, and then relents:<br/>
</p>
<p>“I suppose so. We’ll see about it, then. You want dinner tonight?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan blinks.<br/>
</p>
<p>“…dinner?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yeah. There’ll be food, if you are brave enough to try my cooking. Noos likes to complain about it, but he likes to complain about everything.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I… Yes. I would like that very much. Thank you.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Good. Food’s served at seven.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider puts his ear to the door for a moment before opening it, and then he slinks through and closes it quickly behind him. Lan Zhan hears the lock click as it turns. He stays another minute in the empty corridor, listening, but all seems quiet inside Schneider’s lab. On his right index finger, Wei Ying’s hair itches against his skin. He strokes his thumb over it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stops by the freezer room on his way back to his cabin. It is empty but for the single dead body, lying flat on the floor in the middle of the room, concealed in its white plastic bag. The cold is burning on Lan Zhan’s face and hands, and he is quick about opening the bag and scanning the face underneath. It is, indeed, Nie Mingjue, although paler than Lan Zhan has ever seen him. Sparkling frost is clinging to his facial hair: his eyebrows, his mustache, his eyeashes. It makes him look almost otherworldly, like some sleeping fairy princess from an illustration in a children’s book. Almost as if he could be woken with a magic word, or with a kiss. Lan Zhan leaves before his presence can raise the room’s temperature too much. </p>
<p>When he enters his own cabin, someone is already there. Lan Zhan stumbles to a stop on the treshold and grips the doorframe for support. Wei Ying looks up at the noise and smiles.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Lan Zhan!” he says and stands from the desk chair.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan cannot speak.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying had started to walk over but pauses by the bed, looking uncertain. “Lan Zhan, what’s wrong? Why are you staring at me like that?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan’s chest is aching. He tries to find words but can only manage a small shake of his head. He does not remember how to breathe. Wei Ying laughs nervously.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Come on, Lan Zhan, say something, you are starting to freak me out!” His eyes are very wide, darting back and forth as if searching him for injuries. He looks frightened, and that is what snaps Lan Zhan out of it. He draws a shaky breath.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying,” he manages.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes? Lan Zhan, please, what happened, what’s wrong?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan shakes his head again, more distinctly this time.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m… sorry. Wei Ying. Do not be worried.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying huffs and rolls his eyes, still clearly tense.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No? How am I supposed to react then when you come in here looking like somebody died?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan closes his eyes and makes himself take another breath. His lungs are burning, or perhaps it is the scar.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It is… nothing. Wei Ying. I promise.” He looks into Wei Ying’s eyes, which are still flicking nervously back and forth. Lan Zhan swallows and makes an effort to smooth his voice out.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Really, it is nothing. I am fine. I’m sorry I scared you. I am simply… tired.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying looks searchingly into his eyes for a moment, and then nods. His eyes are still worried but his body is dropping the tension, his movements less jerky.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Okay,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Okay, Lan Zhan.” He lets out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Fuck. You really scared me, you know that?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” says Lan Zhan again.<br/>
</p>
<p>They remain standing for a moment, simply looking at each other. Wei Ying is still looking a bit suspicious, or perhaps it is only residual tension. His eyes move over Lan Zhan’s face, his shoulders, his chest, taking in his posture and whatever his face is communicating.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Poor Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying, almost to himself. “You’ve had a day, huh?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan says nothing, but Wei Ying doesn’t seem to mind. He taps his chin, mock-thoughtfully.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey,” he says, “Do you need a hug?”<br/>
</p>
<p>He laughs at whatever Lan Zhan’s face does in response, but gently, like he’s letting Lan Zhan in on the joke.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Come on, Lan Zhan, I don’t bite!” He holds out his arms in invitation. “Yeah?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan hesitates. Wei Ying keeps his arms held out, patiently waiting. Lan Zhan’s chest pulls and throbs, and his throat is constricting. He nods once. Wei Ying’s smile grows wider, pushing his eyes into thin slivers.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Come here, then,” he says, and then walks over to where Lan Zhan still hasn’t moved and puts his arms around him.<br/>
</p>
<p>Despite the warning, Lan Zhan is startled by the sudden proximity, and at first only the visuals register: Wei Ying’s hair in his peripheral vision, the dark fabric of his sweater near Lan Zhan’s face, the unmade bed inside the room, weak light leaking through the curtain over the small window. Then, one at a time, other impressions start to register: the feeling of a body against his, a ribcage expanding and contracting with each breath. Long hairs tickling his face and getting in his mouth. The sounds of breathing, of swallowing. Little puffs of air on the shell of is ear. Warmth. <em>They even got the smells right</em>, Lan Zhan thinks, wildly. He has the strange and unsettling experience of existing in two different realities at once; one where he is thirtyfour, an acclaimed psychologist stranded in a remote research station and doing his best to make sense of an impossible job; another one where he is walking across campus in winter, a shoulder bumping into his every other step and the smell of coffee blowing into his face. He is nineteen years old and not yet aware that this is the happiest he is ever going to be.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Lan Zhan?” says Wei Ying carefully, and then: “Lan Zhan, are you crying? What the hell?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan draws in a shaky breath. His cheeks are wet, and his nose is starting to run.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Seriously, Lan Zhan, what happened? Come on, tell me who hurt you so I can kill them. What? I’ll do it, I’m not kidding!”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan shakes his head, sniffles a little. His throat hurts, voice coming out raspy and wet.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It’s nothing. It’s nothing. I’m sorry. Nothing is wrong, I’m just tired. I’m sorry.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying pulls back a little to look at him, without loosening his embrace. Lan Zhan feels a childish urge to hide his face in his hands.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey. Hey, it’s okay, Lan Zhan? It’s okay to be tired. It’s fine.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He leans back in, adjusting his grip so that they can stand more comfortably. One of his hands ends up in Lan Zhan’s hair, stroking it slowly. Lan Zhan cannot hide the sob shaking his shoulders, or the ugly hitch in his breath.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Shh, it’s fine, shh. You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’ve got you, Lan Zhan.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan closes his eyes and lets the words simply become patterns of sound, a soft melody without meaning. He tentatively puts his arms around Wei Ying, hands coming to rest at his back. Wei Ying hugs him a little tighter in response. He floats there for a while, until the tears have stopped and his breathing is mostly back to normal. He gradually comes back to himself and starts to take in his surroundings; how his back is tensing up from staying in the same position for so long, and how they are still standing just inside the doorway, the door to the corridor wide open behind him. Wei Ying has stopped murmuring comforting nonsense, but he does not let go of Lan Zhan, and Lan Zhan does not move. Finally Wei Ying lets out a sigh, and the hand that had stilled on Lan Zhan’s hair moves to his shoulder and starts rubbing gently back and forth.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You work too hard, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying wispers. “You try so hard, all the time. You’re too good. So good. You’re the best. They don’t know how lucky they are.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan swallows.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It’s… a lot. Sometimes. Today.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I know. But you’re doing so well. Perfect Lan Zhan, you’re allowed to have a bad day too, you know? No one can be that perfect all the time. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of us.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He pokes Lan Zhan gently in the ribs, both a tease and a question: <em>Are you alright?</em> Lan Zhan sighs and drops his arms, and Wei Ying takes the cue to let go, stepping back and giving him a tentative smile. Lan Zhan nods, and then remembers the ribbon, bunched up and hidden in the pocket of his jacket. He fishes it out and offers it to Wei Ying, embarrassed when he notices how crumpled it has gotten. He nearly wants to shove it down his pocket again, but Wei Ying has already seen it, so he just holds it out for him to take. Wei Ying laughs, but it is aimed at himself rather than at Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wow, thanks, Lan Zhan. Hah, I didn’t even realize I’d lost it. Good thing you’re around to keep track of my things for me, huh?”<br/>
He takes the ribbon and starts tying his hair up into a bun. Lan Zhan tries not to stare. Wei Ying looks exactly like Lan Zhan remembers him, his skin as smooth and uncreased as when they were nineteen. It looks soft to the touch, and warm, and slightly oily in patches on his forehead and the bridge of his nose. On his neck, just above the collar of his shirt, Lan Zhan can see a hint of acne. Wei Ying catches his eye and raises an eyebrow.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Nothing.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying rolls his eyes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“All right then.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan clears his throat.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Have you eaten?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying pauses and frowns.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You know,” he says, “I can’t actually remember. Isn’t that odd?”<br/>
</p>
<p>He finishes tying the ribbon looking thoughtful, the smile slipping for a moment. Then he shakes himself, and the smile is back, as if it was never gone.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Why, are you hungry?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“It is lunchtime,” Lan Zhan says. “I will make us something.”</p>
<p>On the way to the kitchen, he gently rolls the ring of wound hairs off his finger and slips it into his breast pocket. Wei Ying does not appear to notice.</p>
<p>Wei Ying is quiet while Lan Zhan cooks, or at least relatively so. He still swings his feet absentmindedly where he is perched on the stainless steel counter, his heels kicking irregular rythms against the cupboards, and sometimes he hums under his breath, littles snippets of melodies too short for Lan Zhan to recognize. He can feel Wei Ying’s eyes on him as he works, but every time he looks over they dart away as if caught doing something they shouldn’t. If Wei Ying has noticed the lines around Lan Zhan’s eyes and mouth, he does not say so.<br/>
</p>
<p>The food, when it is done, is watery and bland ‒ there is only so much Lan Zhan can do with deep frozen station-wares ‒ but Wei Ying still beams at him when he hands him his bowl and then proceeds to eat almost nothing at all. It takes a while for Lan Zhan to notice, because Wei Ying keeps picking things up with his chopsticks and waving them about while he speaks, but when Lan Zhan has nearly finished, Wei Ying’s bowl is still full.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying,” he says, breaking him off mid-ramble. “Would you like me to make you something else?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying looks uncomprehending for a moment and then glances down at where he has broken his noodles into tiny pieces with his chopsticks.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh! No, sorry, Lan Zhan. Just, you know, funniest thing, I just realized that I wasn’t really hungry at all. Like, I thought I was, I really did, I don’t know why… Sorry. The food is great, I just… Yeah. Sorry.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“No need.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying seems a little subdued after that, and they spend the rest of the meal in silence, Wei Ying nibbling slowly on a piece of cabbage while Lan Zhan finishes his food. Lan Zhan takes both their bowls out to the kitchen and watches Wei Yings food disappear into the disposer, wondering if there is a waste tank in the station or if it will be ground and dropped to the surface of Luanzang. It is a fairly usual way to deal with waste on-site, much more efficient than storing it and transporting it back to Earth for disposal, but perhaps in this case the planet’s sentience has been taken into account. He wonders briefly, if he were a planet, how he would feel about the waste of other beings being dropped onto him without his consent. And he wonders if questions like that are among the aims of the communication attempt. Somehow he doubts they are. </p>
<p>On the way back from the kitchen, Wei Ying seems skittish, his eyes flicking incessantly back and forth over the corridor. When they get closer to Lan Zhan’s quarters, he slows his steps, almost coming to a stop behind Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey, Lan Zhan?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan stops too and waits for him to catch up. Wei Ying smiles, but his eyes are unaffected by it and he mostly looks uncomfortable.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Listen, can I… Would you mind if I just… hung out with you for a while? Like, sorry, I get that you probably have stuff to do, it’s just… It’s silly, it’s just a stupid brain thing, but… I don’t really have anything to, like, focus on, and my mind won’t shut up, and it helps… I mean, it’s better when I’m not alone, I think. But it’s completely fine if, like‒”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupts, because he knows no other way break through the mental spiral that Wei Ying is going down, “of course. You…” He struggles a bit with the words, but settles on: “You are always welcome.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Really? You don’t have stuff to do? It’s fine if you do, I understand!”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan considers.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I need to start on a report. But I would not mind your company.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying’s eyes crinkle in a real smile.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Thanks, Lan Zhan! I’ll be so quiet, you won’t even know I’m there, I promise!”<br/>
</p>
<p>Privately, Lan Zhan thinks that this is unlikely, but it is just as well. He would much prefer to know for sure that Wei Ying is in the room, rather than have to wonder if he has disappeared again, and prevent himself from turning around every few minutes just to make sure that he is still there. Still, he lets them both into his cabin, and lends Wei Ying a book, and sits down with his report to the sound of pages turning behind him, the creaking of the bedsprings when Wei Ying moves and his occational comments on what he is reading, muttered mostly to himself. Lan Zhan wonders if he is even aware that he is doing it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Wei Ying and Lan Zhan enter the mess hall together at three minutes to seven, the other two are already there. One of the tables has been cleared from dirty dishes and set, somewhat haphazardly, for three. Noos visibly starts at the sight of Wei Ying, who smiles apologetically and gives a little wave. Lan Zhan clears his throat.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I… brought a guest. I am sorry for the inconvenience. Wei Ying, this is Dr Schneider and Dr Noos. Dr Schneider, Dr Noos, this is Wei Ying. He is a friend.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Nice to meet you,” says Wei Ying.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Huh,” says Noos.<br/>
</p>
<p>There is a pause. Schneider rubs at his neck.<br/>
</p>
<p>“There’s only food for three,” he mutters.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan can feel Wei Ying shift his weight beside him.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I will share my portion with Wei Ying,” he says before Wei Ying can offer to leave.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying starts uncertainly. Lan Zhan turns to him.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It is fine. If we are still hungry afterwards, we can get something from the kitchen.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I…” Wei Ying hesitates. “Okay, Lan Zhan. If you say so.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nods. From the corner of his eye, he can tell that Schneider is watching them. His look feels strangely intense, but when Lan Zhan turns back to him his face is blank.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So,” says Schneider, “let’s… I’ll get the food then. And… I suppose another plate.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He disappears through the doorway to the kitchen. The other three are left standing awkwardly until Wei Ying claps his hands together and says, with forced cheerfulness:<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well! Shall we?”<br/>
</p>
<p>They sit, Lan Zhan and Wei Ying next to each other and Noos on the other side, opposite Lan Zhan. He has ended up in the place that had not been laid, but he does not appear to notice. He keeps eyeing Wei Ying suspiciously, and Wei Ying’s smile is starting to look a bit strained.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So,” he says, “Dr Noos. I’m sorry, what is your area of research? Lan Zhan didn’t tell me.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos’s eyes leave Wei Ying for a moment to flick over to Lan Zhan and then quickly back again.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Speculative linguistics,” he says in a monotone.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying blinks.<br/>
</p>
<p>“<em>Speculative</em> linguistics?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos looks pained.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes.”<br/>
</p>
<p>A laugh bursts out of Wei Ying, seemingly involuntarily. It’s only a short one, no more than a quick expulsion of air, but it’s enough to awaken something in Lan Zhan that he had forgotten he knew how to feel. He finds himself wanting to chase after it, worry at it, just like when he was a child and had a loose tooth.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Sorry, I’m sorry,” says Wei Ying, holding up his hands placatingly, “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just… To me ‒ I mean, I obviously don’t know anything about your field, I’m sure it’s ‒ it just sounded so… Ha, sorry. I just always got the impression that linguistics was pretty… reality-dependent, for a field of study I mean.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan does not have words to describe what he is feeling, and he does not think he needs to; he can just about tell the shape of it inside his mind, where it is tied to memories of other gatherings, long time ago, and Wei Ying laughing and rolling an empty wine glass across the table, of people and their perceptions and the dizzying realization that perhaps the world will not end if someone loses face. Again he finds himself in a strange in-between place, unsure what is real and what is memory, beginning to question if there is really a difference.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Semantics,” he says, and, when Wei Ying turns to him, elaborates: “aim to isolate the concept of language from its real-life usage.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying rolls his eyes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well, yes, that’s why it’s nonsense.” He winces. “Sorry, Dr Noos.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos says nothing. Lan Zhan feels curiously light, a floating sensation reminiscent of zero-g but without the nausea. He wants to stay in it forever.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Anyway, so,” continues Wei Ying, “what <em>are</em> speculative linguistics, really?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos looks torn between his wish to ignore him completely and humanity’s deeply ingrained discomfort with direct questions left unanswered. It is, Lan Zhan thinks to himself, a rather funny look.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It contrasts with descriptive linguistics as a subarea of theoretical linguistics. Though speculative linguistics is a much larger area, obviously.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Obviously?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos rolls his eyes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes, obviously, since it deals with describing the whole spectrum of possible languages, and not just the ones we have only encountered.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ah. So is there a lot of overlap with philosophy, then?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos gives him a look.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Okay, no then,” says Wei Ying easily. “So, what, you just ‒ make up a hypothetical language and then study it?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Based on what Lan Zhan knows of Noos’ research from his pre-journey read up, this is actually a surprisingly accurate description of some of his early work. Even if he had not known, the look on Noos’ face would be confirmation enough. Wei Ying himself seems completely oblivious to Noos’ discomfort, and Lan Zhan is not certain wether or not he is faking it.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Dr Lan?” Schneider calls from the kitchen. “Could you come over here for a minute?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan rises and leaves the table. Even as he walks towards the doorway he remains acutely aware of Wei Ying behind him, now attempting to engage Noos in a discussion about conlanging.<br/>
</p>
<p>He expects to be handed something to carry, but when he enters the kitchen Schneider is simply standing there, waiting by the washers with his shoulders tense.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So,” he says, and once more there is this intense look in his eyes, but this time he holds it even when their eyes meet. “What is your plan?” He pauses. </p>
<p>“<em>Do</em> you have a plan?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan says nothing. Schneider searches his face for a moment. Lan Zhan stands straight and does not look away.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ah,” says Schneider quietly. “It’s not an experiment then.”<br/>
</p>
<p>It is a statement, not a question. Lan Zhan stays silent. Schneider rubs the back of his head, causing a sprinkling of dandruff to settle on his shoulders like early snow.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well. Then I guess I can only wish you the best of luck.”<br/>
</p>
<p>It lands somewhere in between sincere and sarcastic, managing at once to be both and neither. Lan Zhan inclines his head in acknowledgement either way.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well, you’re awfully talkative,” Schneider comments.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan pauses.<br/>
</p>
<p>“There is not much to say,” he settles on.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider sighs.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No, I suppose there isn’t.” He gestures at the counter, where the food and an extra plate are ready to be carried out. “Could you get the stew, then, and I’ll get the rest.”</p>
<p>There is, in the end, enough food for all of them. Wei Ying still makes an attempt to decline, before Lan Zhan simply takes his plate and starts serving him food.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Lan <em>Zhan</em>‒,” Wei Ying starts.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You need to eat, too,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Does he?” mutters Noos from the other side of the table, just loud enough to carry.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying does not appear to have heard.<br/>
</p>
<p>It is not a stellar meal, but Schneider has clearly tried his best with the resources available to him, and the food is filling if a bit heavy. They eat mostly in silence, and Lan Zhan feels the light sensation from earlier slip slowly out of his grasp. Wei Ying too seems a bit subdued, even if he does engage Schneider in conversation a couple of times. He eats very little. On the way back to Lan Zhan’s cabin he is quiet, and when they pause outside the door he keeps his eyes on the floor.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks carefully.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ah, sorry, Lan Zhan, it’s… nothing. It’s silly. Anyway, it’s late, I should let you sleep. You’re probably tired, right? I should go.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan does not ask him where. He is not sure if Wei Ying himself knows.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You could stay,” he says.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying smiles a little.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Really, it’s fine, you don’t have to be nice to me. I know you’d usually be asleep around now.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan <em>is</em> tired, has been tired since his sleepless night, since he arrived yesterday, since he left Earth.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I meant, you could sleep here. The bed is big enough. Or I could find an extra mattress.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying stares at him. Lan Zhan stares back, wondering what he will do if Wei Ying says no. If he will ever see him again, should Wei Ying decide to leave. Letting him out of his sight feels impossible, but forcing him to stay is equally out of the question. He waits, silently.<br/>
</p>
<p>“…I mean, wouldn’t it be weird?” says Wei Ying.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Why?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hah. I don’t know. I mean, no, I guess it wouldn’t. But you know, I won’t be tired yet for a couple of hours at least.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I know. You can stay up. Just turn out the light when you go to sleep.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Really? You’re sure it’s fine?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Stay.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying simply looks at him for a moment. Then he smiles, a small but real one.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Alright, Lan Zhan. But you really should go to bed now, you look half asleep already.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mm. I will.”</p>
<p>Lan Zhan sleeps badly again, as was to be expected. He usually has trouble falling asleep in anything but complete darkness, and he wakes up several times thinking that Wei Ying has changed his mind and left, or that perhaps it was really a dream all along, until he registers the soft sound of breathing, or the scratching of a pen on paper. Even hours later, after Wei Ying turns out the light and slides into bed next to him, the unfamiliar experience of lying next to someone ‒ the bed warmer than he is used to, the mattress dipping with the weight of another person ‒ keeps him drifting shallowly in and out of sleep for most of the night. He thinks he dreams of snow in some way, but when he wakes he cannot remember any more than that. The weak light seeping through the curtain is just enough for him to make out the contours of the room around him, Wei Ying’s sleeping form next to him. His breathing is slow and regular, perfectly audible in the quiet. Lan Zhan lies and simply listens to it for a few minutes before rising carefully so as not to wake him. He dresses quietly and without turning on the light. </p>
<p>It is early, and the kitchen is quiet. Lan Zhan had planned to make a proper breakfast, with congee and whatever toppings he would manage to find, but there is a restless sensation inside his ribs that only seems to grow the further he gets from their cabin, so that when he arrives in the kitchen all the cooking he can manage is microwaving another packet of frozen buns. He plates them and puts them on a tray along with a pot of coffee for Wei Ying and a cup of tea for himself. On the way back, the restlessness moves uncomfortably in his chest, and he quickens his pace. Behind him, the echo of his steps quicken too, as if he is being chased. When he reaches the door to his cabin, he has spilled a little of his tea and the irrational anxiety is making his movements hurried and clumsy. He has to use his elbow to open the door, since both his hands are occupied, and he spills a little more tea in the process, but it hardly registers, because‒<br/>
The bed is empty.<br/>
So is the desk chair, and the floor. He sets the tray down on the desk and walks over to the bathroom, looks inside. There is no one there. He walks in anyway and peeks behind the showercurtain, knowing fully well he is being irrational but unable to stop himself. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The corridor is empty and blindingly white, even through the grime covering the floor tiles. Lan Zhan hurries through it with no destination in mind, his head empty and the tips of his fingers tingling. On his right side are cabin doors, grey rectangles staring unseeing at him like foggy mirrors as he passes. <em>No running in the corridors</em>, his uncle’s voice scolds inside his head, and he breaks into a run, past the doors and the empty gaping windows on his left flashing sickly yellow light across his face every three or four steps. Even the echoes seem to have fallen behind and all he can hear is his own breathing.</p>
<p>Almost halfway to Schneider’s lab, there is a dark figure standing by one of the windows, so still it takes Lan Zhan a moment to register that there is someone there. When he does, he slows to a walk, and finally comes to a stop a few metres away, catching his breath. Wei Ying turns and shoots him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and then turns back to the window. After a moment, Lan Zhan goes to stand beside him. His skin is prickling with sweat, itching and creating an odd sensation around the edges of his scar where he cannot feel it.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying,” he says.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying flashes him another smile, the performative kind that means acknowledgement and has nothing to do with happiness. The sunlight is turning the flyaway hairs around his face into a yellow halo.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hi. You weren’t there when I woke up, so I went to look for you. And then I just…”<br/>
</p>
<p>He drifts off, and looks out through the window again. Lan Zhan looks too, squinting in the light. The sun has risen above the mists on the planet’s surface, and the contrast between the yellow light and white sky on the one hand, and the black, moving mists below on the other, is striking. They do not seem to reflect the light at all, absorbing it like a sponge. It makes Lan Zhan think of plants back home, of photosynthesis, and he decides to ask Schneider about it later.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Did you sleep well?” he asks.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying shrugs.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I don’t really remember. So I guess I did.”<br/>
</p>
<p>There seems to be more on his mind, so Lan Zhan waits. Finally Wei Ying frowns a little, and draws in a breath.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I… Do you dream, Lan Zhan?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes. But I do not always remember.” He waits a moment. “Did you dream?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying sighs and shakes his head a little, but Lan Zhan does not think it is in response to his question.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I… Maybe. I’m not sure.” He pauses. The tip of his finger traces a shape on the window where their breath has fogged the glass. “You know… how dreams are like… they usually come from inside you, in a way? Or, like, things you have seen or talked about during the day, or sometimes they’re memories?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well, this wasn’t… I don’t know. It just felt different. Strange. Like, not strange as in odd, but strange as in not familiar, you know? Foreign.” He is still looking out the window. Lan Zhan wishes he could see his face properly.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What was it? The dream?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying shakes his head and then finally looks at Lan Zhan again, smiling. On the window, the spirals he has drawn quickly fade as the air absorbs the moisture.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ah, it was probably nothing. I hardly remember it anyway.”</p>
<p>The coffee is lukewarm by the time they get back, but Wei Ying does not mention it. They have breakfast together and take turns in the bathroom, and then Lan Zhan continues his report while Wei Ying doodles on a piece of scrap paper, sitting crosslegged on the bed with a book in his lap as a makeshift desk. If he concentrates, Lan Zhan can almost believe they are in another room, a lifetime ago on a different planet, Wei Ying drawing when he should be studying and Lan Zhan pretending not to notice. It was a portrait, that time. A portrait of Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What are you drawing?” he asks.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying hides the drawing against his chest as if Lan Zhan could see it from where he is sitting.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m not telling you! Turn back around, you’ll see it when I’m done.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Alright,” says Lan Zhan and turns back.<br/>
</p>
<p>After a few seconds, the scratching of the pencil continues. The sound is soothing and Lan Zhan drifts in it, letting himself forget the report for just a moment.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey, Lan Zhan?” says Wei Ying some time later, when Lan Zhan is just starting to think about lunch.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mm?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Tell me something? Or, wait, sorry, you’re busy, forget it.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan, who has been trying to word the same paragraph for the past twenty minutes, pushes his computer to the side and turns around.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Not busy. Tell you what?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying shrugs, eyes still on the drawing in his lap.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I don’t know. Just something. Like, something we have done together that you remember.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan thinks.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You mean something special? Like a trip?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I mean, yeah, it could be, or also just like ‒ normal stuff. Anything.”<br/>
</p>
<p>It has been so long since Lan Zhan allowed himself to remember, since he intentionally searched for a memory, that it takes him a moment to come up with anything at all. Wei Ying looks like he is about to drop it, so Lan Zhan grasps at the first thing that comes to his mind.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You… In the class we had together. The one my uncle held, the ethics class. You always spoke back to him. I used to be so annoyed with you. Because…”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan licks his lips. He is not used to holding monologues, especially not in Wei Ying’s company. Wei Ying waits patiently for him to continue, looking curious.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Because it was disruptive. I knew… Because there were lesson plans, and I knew we were getting behind every time you started a discussion, and I did not like… It always stressed me, knowing I was behind a plan. So I wanted you to stop at first. But then… I did not tell you, but I started to… My uncle was not always right. He was very competent, but sometimes he took the easier way and avoided the difficult questions. Because he… He never liked to be reminded that he did not have all the answers. And you… would never let him forget. You made all of us… He thought you were just undermining his authority, just to be contrary. But you were not, I‒ I knew that, but I do not think I ever told you that I knew. And so there was one time when you won an argument, it was… I think it was about propaganda, originally, or… No, I am not sure. But it moved on, either way, into a discussion about right and wrong, and you… He tried to claim that there really were such things, beyond the subjective, I mean. I do not think that he expected to have to defend it, but of course you…”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying is looking at him intently, with a complicated expression that Lan Zhan cannot remember ever seeing before. It makes him feel a little lost, uncertain in a way he seldom feels anymore, but he makes an effort not to stammer or lose his thread because Wei Ying asked him for a memory, and Wei Ying has so rarely asked him for things.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Of course you questioned it, and he got defensive, and… At first I think it was a bigger discussion, I remember other people speaking too, but soon it was only you and him, back and forth, and the rest of us were audience. And it was… The whole time, from the very beginning, it was obvious that you were winning. I think he knew, too, but he did not want to ‒ or, maybe he couldn’t… I suppose he had to look like he was in control in some way, but it was so clear that he was not, and I remember‒”<br/>
</p>
<p>He swallows to stop his voice from scratching.<br/>
</p>
<p>“The thing I remember, is that you were smiling the whole time. You were shooting down all his arguments like it was nothing, like it was easy, and the whole time, you were just smiling, like you were having fun, like… Not gloating, not… Just… You were enjoying yourself. You looked happy. And it… I had to pretend, for my uncle’s sake, that I didn’t… But it made me want to smile too. It made me so happy. It is one of my happiest memories from school.”<br/>
</p>
<p>The room feels doubly quiet when he stops speaking. Wei Ying is looking down at his lap again, a small, hunched shape on the rumpled blankets. Lan Zhan waits. </p>
<p>When Wei Ying finally speaks, he is quieter than Lan Zhan was expecting.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Did I really do that?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“You did.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying is rubbing his thumb back and forth over his own ankle, hard, like he is expecting it to reshape itself if he applies enough pressure.<br/>
</p>
<p>“s’funny,” he mumbles. “I don’t remember. That’s so weird.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He looks up and meets Lan Zhan’s eyes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“That’s weird, isn’t it?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan does not know what to answer.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I do not know,” he says carefully. “Not necessarily.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying looks down again. His thumb has moved down to his bare foot, pressing in between the bones, hard enough for his nail to leave little crescent moons in his skin. Lan Zhan wants to grab his wrist to make him stop.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Do you ever…” Wei Ying pauses, frowns. “You know sometimes when you know something, and you <em>know</em> you know it, or like, you know you’re supposed to know it, but you just can’t remember right then? And you’ll, like, search for it but it’s all just blank and the more you look the more gone it is. Or sometimes, sometimes you might not even know what it is, you just know there is something you have forgotten but you don’t know what, because you’ve, you know, <em>forgotten</em>, but, just like, there is something that’s supposed to be there and it’s not. You know?”<br/>
</p>
<p>He looks up, and Lan Zhan nods in confirmation.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well,” Wei Ying continues, “it’s kind of like that. Except… I feel like it’s a lot. A lot of things. Like there’s all this space in here that’s supposed to… I don’t know. I thought, maybe, if you told me something, then I would be like ‘right, of course, <em>that</em> thing’, and I would remember, but… I don’t. I don’t remember any of it.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan swallows.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It is alright. Wei Ying. It does not matter.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“But what if it does? What if… I don’t know.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“It is not important. People forget unimportant things all the time. You are supposed to. It is how the mind works.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“It is, though. It’s important to you,” Wei Ying protests. “You just said it’s one of your happiest memories.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Then I will remember it for both of us. So we both know it happened.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Memories don’t work like that, Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying, but he is smiling now, albeit a small one. Lan Zhan feels some of the worry that has gathered in his stomach leave through his chest and arms and fingers. Wei Ying lets himself fall backwards on the bed, dropping the book and the drawing carelessly on the blanket beside him.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ugh. Am I going crazy, Lan Zhan? I feel like maybe I am.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He has flung an arm over his face, covering his eyes, but his mouth is relaxed. Lan Zhan watches his chest rise and fall.<br/>
</p>
<p>“If you are crazy,” he says after slightly too long a pause, “then I am too.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s alright then,” says Wei Ying without moving his arm. “I know <em>you’re</em> not crazy.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“No?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying shakes his head but otherwise does not move.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Nope.” He exaggerates the ‘p’, making a popping sound with his lips. “Not possible. You’re, like, easily the sanest person I know. Sanest person alive. It’s, like written in the laws of the, of the universe. Big letters. ‘Lan Zhan is the sanest person’. s’what it says.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I see.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying nods and yawns, and when he speaks again his voice is muffled by the sleeve of his sweater.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yup. Cause if <em>you</em> were crazy, I mean, what would that mean for the rest of us? World would be coming to an end.” He inhales deeply and lets it out in a puff. “Wow, I could fall asleep like this.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Don’t,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me what to do,” Wei Ying mutters, but he sits back up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is already long past noon when they leave for the kitchen. Lan Zhan is not usually affected too much by hunger, but Wei Ying is starting to droop a bit, turning quiet and pensive. The sun has moved, making this feel like an entirely different corridor from the one that saw him stumbling through blinding patches of light only a few hours ago. What happened this morning feels distant, in the way his memories from Earth feel distant; like a story he has been told, something that happened to somebody else. Outside the windows, the dark mists are a slowly undulating mass, like a large body of water when there is no wind. The shadow of the station is just barely visible on the surface, even with the bright midday sunlight behind them. Lan Zhan slows almost without noticing, trying to get a better look.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Did you see something?” says Wei Ying.<br/>
</p>
<p>He comes to stand by Lan Zhan’s shoulder, where he has come to a stop in front of one of the windows. Perhaps it is the very same window they were looking through this morning. Lan Zhan cannot tell. They all look the same.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No,” says Lan Zhan. “There is nothing there.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“That’s not true. There is mist.” It sounds like it should be a joke, Wei Ying trying to be annoying, but his tone does not sound joking. Lan Zhan turns to look at him.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Don’t look at me like that, I’m serious. I was thinking about it this morning, when…” he pauses. “It’s really <em>there</em>, you know?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I mean… You know when you look at the sky, and sometimes you see a cloud that looks exactly like a rabbit?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan hums to show that he is listening.<br/>
</p>
<p>“And, but then the clouds move and it gets, like, distorted, and then after maybe a minute you can’t even tell it used to be a rabbit? Because, obviously, it’s not actually a rabbit. It’s just a shape, and because your brain likes to find patterns, it tells you it’s a rabbit. Or an image of a rabbit.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mm.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“And I was thinking, when I was looking ‒ I didn’t see anything, really, but I just had this feeling that <em>if</em> I saw something, say, if the mist formed a rabbit, it would actually <em>be</em> a rabbit. I mean, not a flesh and blood rabbit, necessarily, but, like, not really an image either. I don’t know. It’s just ‒ it’s a weird feeling.”<br/>
</p>
<p><em>It is</em>, thinks Lan Zhan. They watch the mists for a minute, swirls and shapes bloating and distorting like something out of a dream.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey,” says Wei Ying and nudges his arm. “Let’s make food.”</p>
<p>Schneider enters the mess hall when Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are about halfway through their meal. He nods at them on his way to the kitchen but does not otherwise seem inclined to interact.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey,” whispers Wei Ying when he is out of earshot. “Should we have cooked for the two of them too?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan considers.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No. We did not know what time they were planning to eat. We can make plans to cook for everyone some other time, when we have talked to them in advance.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider reemerges only a minute later, carrying two slices of bread with nothing on. He pauses briefly by their table on his way to the door, nodding briefly to Wei Ying.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Come by my lab later,” he says to Lan Zhan. “There are some things to discuss.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan recognizes it for the compliancy it is. He inclines his head.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Would any particular time suit you?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“No, you can come whenever. Just knock first.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nods again, and Schneider nods. There is a pause. Wei Ying looks between the two of them.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Won’t you join us for lunch, Dr Schneider?” he offers.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No,” says Schneider. He starts toward the door, pauses halfway to nod an awkward goodbye, and then he leaves.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying huffs a laugh, a near-silent puff of air that Lan Zhan can feel on the back of his hand where it rests on the table.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well, this is a cheerful place, isn’t it,” he comments.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mm,” says Lan Zhan, and Wei Ying laughs again, audibly.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan studies him from across the table: the hand holding the chopsticks, fingernails slightly bitten; his elbow resting on the table; a spot of sauce at the corner of his mouth, just under his bottom lip.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Will you be alright,” he asks, “if I go see Schneider in his lab?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying shrugs and smiles. Lan Zhan cannot tell if it is real or affected.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Sure, I’ll find something to occupy myself with. Don’t worry about me.”<br/>
</p>
<p><em>Don’t worry about me</em>, echoes the Wei Ying of Lan Zhan’s memories, smiling a hundred different smiles, some real and some hollow. <em>I’ll be fine, don’t worry</em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lan Zhan makes it to Schneider’s lab later that afternoon, just as darkness is beginning to fall outside the windows. He knocks as instructed and half expects the ruckus from last time to start up again, but it does not. There is only Schneider’s voice, faint from behind the door, asking him to enter; and so he does.<br/>
</p>
<p>The lab is mostly what he expected it to be, if perhaps a bit dustier than most biologists’ labs he has been in. Then again, most labs have hired cleaning staff. This lab likely also had, once.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So, how is the report coming along?” asks Schneider.<br/>
</p>
<p>He is standing at the workbench at the further end of the lab, removing his latex gloves one finger at a time. There is no sign of whatever was in the lab on Lan Zhan’s last visit.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I… lack some vital information.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I should think so,” says Schneider. He finishes removing his gloves and comes to stand a couple of metres away, putting the gloves on the counter next to his computer as if he is planning to use the same ones again. Lan Zhan does not comment, but his look must say enough, because Schneider huffs a half-laugh and picks them up again to exaggeratedly throw them in the trash. He raises his eyebrows at Lan Zhan, who does not respond. Schneider shrugs and grins, a quick flash of teeth before he turns to move a stack of papers from one of the chairs to the counter.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I should think so,”  he repeats and sits on the chair. He does not offer Lan Zhan a seat, and Lan Zhan does not ask. He feels more comfortable standing. “And I suspect you have been busy, too.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan feels his jaw clench.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m not insinuating anything,” says Schneider. “That’s not what I meant. Anyway, Dr Lan, you strike me as much too professional to let anything personal affect your work.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan says nothing. Schneider huffs again and shifts on the chair, his eyes skidding away from Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Not that I would care if it did,” he says, directing the words to the floortiles. “Slower you work, the longer I get to stay.”<br/>
</p>
<p>That gives Lan Zhan pause.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Do you… You enjoy being here?” he asks.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider shrugs.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I mean, it’s not a pretty place. To be completely honest, It’s the most godawful planet I’ve ever been to, but no one is making me look at it, are they? So I don’t mind it. Not like Noos.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan glances over at the windows. They are all covered with sheets of white plastic. Schneider follows his gaze.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yeah, that helps. I kept getting distracted.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan does not ask by what.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Anyway,” says Schneider, “what you really wanted to know: Yes, I would like to stay. I’m onto something here, even if they won’t take it seriously back home, and even if it turns out it’s nothing, I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nods. He can understand that.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What about Dr Noos?” he asks. “Does he feel the same way?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider snorts.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hell no! He hates this place with all his heart, can’t you tell?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nods.<br/>
</p>
<p>“That was my impression. But he has not been very cooperative.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh well,” says Schneider, leaning back and crossing his legs, “It’s not that simple with him. I mean, you wouldn’t know, you never knew him before, but this place really did a number on him. He didn’t use to be like this, before. For one thing, he wasn’t nearly as much of an asshole, but that’s just… He’s bitter, that’s what it is. And I don’t blame him.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He looks at Lan Zhan as if expecting him to dispute this. When Lan Zhan doesn’t, he drops the eye contact again, his gaze moving restlessly about the room.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Who wouldn’t,” he adds, and swallows with an audible click of his pharynx.<br/>
</p>
<p>There is something about the room that amplifies the sounds of Schneider’s breathing, the moist hissing of air moving in and out of his lungs. It reminds Lan Zhan, unpleasantly, of the fact that he is a body, that they are both, ultimately, sets of bone and muscle and messy bodily functions, however much they pretend otherwise in normal conversation.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I at least have work, to distract from…” Schneider gestures vaguely at the outer wall where the windows are. “He’s just waiting. He’s been waiting all this time, for something to... I think it’s been driving him kind of… I don’t know if he actually believes he can leave here, anymore. You see?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I am not sure,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider nods.<br/>
</p>
<p>“That’s fair. Anyway. Then there’s… I don’t know who his visitor is, he didn’t tell me. But… I got the impression it was not someone he had wished to meet again, you know?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I see,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Schneider seems pensive. His eyes have quit roaming and latched onto something near Lan Zhans right foot. “I think he understood Dr Nie better than I ever did.”<br/>
</p>
<p>They are both silent. Lan Zhan takes in this new knowledge, holds it up next to the memories of his interactions with Dr Noos to see how it fits. He cannot yet determine if it does.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You know, Dr Lan, I like you way better than I thought I would,” says Schneider suddenly, with the air of a declaration. “You don’t speak unless you have something to say. An admirable quality.”<br/>
</p>
<p>The last part drifts towards the sarcastic, but the sentiment seems genuine. Lan Zhan inclines his head and, accordingly, says nothing. It makes Schneider huff another laugh, like Lan Zhan suspected it would. He feels himself relax, slipping into the familiar confidence of having mastered a social situation.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You said you believe you are onto something with your research,” he says. “What did you mean?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider lights up.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ah! Yes, that’s what I wanted to show you. Or, rather, talk to you about.” He stands and walks over to the computer to start browsing through his files. Lan Zhan keeps a respectful distance while he searches, aware of how reluctant Schneider had been to let him in here at all. When Schneider finally calls him over, Lan Zhan comes to stand at his shoulder, with a clear view of the screen. At first he cannot make sense of the image. His brain tells him he is looking at a black-and-white picture of boulders ‒ with smooth surfaces and sharp-looking edges, reminiscent of flint ‒ but the perspective is off, and there is no horizon. Then his vision rearranges itself, and he can see the tell-tale signs of a microscope image ‒ the odd angle of the light, the too-smooth surfaces, the lack of a background. He can feel Schneider’s eyes on him.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Do you know the basic characteristics of life, as we see it in biology?” Schneider asks.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan thinks.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Reproduction,” he says eventually. “Growth. Ability to… convert energy?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider nods appriciatively.<br/>
</p>
<p>“That’s right, metabolism. Very good. There are a few more, like adaptation and response to stimuli, and of course organization. That’s the main thing, in a way. One of the most basic characteristics of a living thing is that it has an organized structure to perform a specific function. That is, it normally consists of cells, in one way or another.” He gestures at the image on the screen. “Can you see any cells here?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan looks again.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What is it?” he asks.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It’s dust,” says Schneider. “From the planet’s surface. The same dust that makes up the mist. And that’s all it is, just dust. Not a cell in there.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“What does that mean?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well, it means that it’s not organized, at least not in any way we can determine. And it doesn’t seem to grow. It looks like there could be a kind of metabolism, but if there is I have no idea how it works. And there’s only one of it, so it’s obviously not reproducing. So, that is to say, according to our Terran definitions, this planet is not strictly a living thing. On the other hand, it’s clearly responding to stimuli. And we have reason to believe it’s sentient in some way, which is something that only occurs in quite complex organisms on Earth, as far as we know. So what should we do with that? How do we deal with en entity that is sentient but not alive? How should we think of it? As a ghost? A… <em>spirit</em>? Or something else entirely? Or, should we just do what the IILRA does, call it too complicated and leave it at that? What do you think, Dr Lan?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan clears his throat.<br/>
</p>
<p>“My personal opinion will not impact the Administration’s decision.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider waves that away.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Of course not, I’m not stupid. But don’t you think it’s a bit silly? How something like this should stand or fall on a simple question of definitions?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes,” says Lan Zhan, because he does.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Either way,” says Schneider, “I’m going to keep going until they tell me to leave, no matter what. And then we’ll see if I have enough to convince someone it’d be worthwhile to try again.”<br/>
</p>
<p>This, Lan Zhan knows, is rather unlikely. There are no economically relevant findings on Luanzang, nothing of importance except from a strictly scientific standpoint. He does not say so. He is sure that Schneider already knows.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider turns back to the computer, typing something into the search bar.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Now this here,” he says while the picture is loading. It is another microscope image, this time of something long and thin, with a flaky surface. “This is organized. This is a hair. Completely indistinguishable from a human hair.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Is it not?” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider shakes his head.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It’s from one of our visitors. Now the problem is, the cells that make up hair are already dead, so this still doesn’t actually prove the existence of life according to our definitions. You can make hair like this in a 3D printer. It doesn’t prove anything.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan can see where the conversation is going, what it is Schneider wants from him. He is looking at Lan Zhan intently, waiting for him to ask, so Lan Zhan does, even though he suspects he already knows the answer.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What <em>would</em> it take,” he asks. “To prove life?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Live cells. Ideally a blood sample, so I could run some more tests while I’m at it. But as you might have noticed last time you were here, I haven’t had much luck in getting them to cooperate. I thought your friend Mr Wei might be more helpful.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I see,” says Lan Zhan. He thinks of the sounds he heard from inside the lab, the first time he was here. The thumping, and the shriek.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider looks at him expectantly.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I am not tricking him into letting you take a blood sample,” says Lan Zhan, through the bad taste spreading in his mouth.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Huh,” says Schneider. “Alright. What if you told him what it’s for, then?”<br/>
</p>
<p><em>How</em>, thinks Lan Zhan. <em>How would I tell him that?</em> Schneider regards him for a moment, then sighs.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’ve been meaning to ask you, anyway ‒ how much does he know, about the… situation? How much does he understand?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan rests his eyes just above Schneider’s eyebrows. He can feel himself rapidly growing tired of the conversation and has to force the irritability out of his voice.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m not sure.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“No? Haven’t you talked about it?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan keeps his mouth closed.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Alright,” says Schneider when it becomes clear that Lan Zhan isn’t answering. “I suppose that’s for you to decide, who know him best. Is he much like the original, would you say? Or are there differences?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan stares at him. Schneider looks back without averting his gaze. A moment goes by.<br/>
</p>
<p>“The human mind is complex,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider raises his eyebrows. Lan Zhan takes a moment to formulate his response before he says it, in a way that Schneider might understand.<br/>
</p>
<p>“If I were to change my behavior, and from now on act differently when interacting with you, would you believe that I were some other person you had not previously met, who happened to look exactly like me? Or would it be more reasonable to assume that you were seeing a side of my personality you had not encountered before? Or, if you saw me in a new context and I did something you had not previously seen me do, how would you judge whether the reason you had not seen me do that particular thing was that it was outside the bounds of my personality, or whether it was because you had never seen me in a context where that activity was possible?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“So you’re telling me, as a psychologist, that it’s a nonsense question?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan thinks.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I do not know if it is nonsense. But I cannot imagine a situation in which I could give you an answer.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Alright, whatever. I was just being curious. It’s all the same to <em>me</em> either way.”<br/>
</p>
<p>The unspoken part of that utterance hangs in the air between them like a bad smell. Lan Zhan nods and makes to leave. Schneider does not stop him. Just as he opens the door, Schneider calls:<br/>
</p>
<p>“Think about it, okay? About asking him?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan closes the door carefully behind him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The conversation with Schneider has drained Lan Zhan’s energy, and normally after such an afternoon ‒ if, of course, the situation permitted ‒ he would want to spend the evening in solitude, meditating or playing music. Now he finds himself longing for company; specifically Wei Ying’s. He wonders how Wei Ying has been spending his afternoon, what new pencil sketches he will find on the backs of his work papers when he gets back to the cabin. He wonders if Wei Ying has eaten, and if not, what he would want for dinner. He wonders if, when he opens the door, Wei Ying will really be there, or if he will have vanished from Lan Zhan’s life just as suddenly as he reappeared, as suddenly as last time. He walks through the corridor in long but controlled strides, the echoes chasing behind him like hungry dogs. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>When he opens the door to his cabin, the first thing his eyes focus on is Wei Ying, standing by the window on the far wall with his back to the door, and Lan Zhan breathes out. Then Wei Ying turns, and Lan Zhan’s chest constricts. This is not the Wei Ying of the past two days, the one who smiles at him in his memories, on the grass outside the library, from the other end of the ethics classroom. The Wei Ying now standing before him belongs to Lan Zhan’s later memories, his very last ones of Wei Ying. No part of his face is smiling.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan tries.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So,” says Wei Ying, faux casual. His voice sounds hollow and raspy, like it is hurting him to speak. “Noos tells me I’m not real.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan does not know what to say. He closes the door silently behind him and enters further into the room. When he comes closer, Wei Ying backs away. Lan Zhan stops. They stare at each other.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Were you going to tell me?” Wei Ying says finally.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan has no answer. Wei Ying breathes out hard through his nose.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What, did you think you’d just pretend like nothing was wrong until I went away? Were you just going to <em>humour</em> me? Or was it all just a fun experiment to you, to see how long it would take before I got it?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan shakes his head. There are thoughts racing around his mind, crashing into each other and crowding his throat, choking him.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Then what?” he asks. “<em>What</em>, Lan Zhan? Why wouldn’t you say‒ Just pretend everything’s fine, let me think I’m <em>an actual person</em> ‒ was it pity, is that it? Did you pity me too much to tell me I was just a manifestation of your guilt? Was it?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying’s tone is aggressive, but he does not look angry. His expression just looks empty, like someone has flipped off the switch to all of his facial muscles. Lan Zhan has seen this expression before. It is one of the few he has been actively trying to forget.<br/>
When he is not smiling, Wei Ying’s eyes are impossibly big and dark.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, because he does not know what else to say.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Why are you even calling me that? There is no Wei Ying. Wei Ying is dead.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan cannot feel his face, but he thinks he might be crying again. He cannot remember the last time he cried, before this trip. The blur at the edges of his vision only adds to the surreality of the moment.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying is dead and I am just something you made up out of guilt, and now I know it too so it’s all solved, you can let it go now, Lan Zhan. I’m officially no longer your problem. Congratulations.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying has started pacing: four steps to the bed, stop, turn, four steps to the window, stop, turn. Back and forth, over and over again, his movements jerky, the stops too sudden.<br/>
Lan Zhan takes a breath and unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Not guilt,” he manages. It comes out weak, and he worries Wei Ying will be too caught up in his own despair to hear it. He clears his throat to try again, but Wei Ying is already turning to look at him. His breathing is coming quickly.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Huh?” he says.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Not… Noos is wrong.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh?” Lan Zhan thinks Wei Ying’s tone would be mocking if it was not so empty. “How so?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I have… regrets. But no guilt.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“That’s the same thing, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying seems to be aiming for contempt but it simply comes out tired. “Anyway, if you’re not guilty, why am I here?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan looks at the floor, at the light layer of dust by the wall where Wei Ying’s pacing has not upset it.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I missed you,” he whispers. He feels six years old, crying for his uncle to lend him his phone to call his mother. When he looks back at Wei Ying, he is half expecting him to be towering above him, tall enough to pick Lan Zhan up and cradle him in his arms. Wei Ying himself looks slightly taken aback.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Huh,” he says after a pause.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan’s eyes well up again.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No,” says Wei Ying, “Don’t‒ Stop, don’t cry.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying starts to move towards him, then stops and moves back again, looking caged.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey, Lan Zhan, don’t, why are you crying? Stop it, <em>I’m</em> the one who’s having an existential crisis, fuck, what are you…”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan makes an effort to regain control over his words, to make them do what he needs them to do.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I do not care,” he says. It comes out hoarse but intelligible.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Huh?” says Wei Ying. “About what?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I do not care,” repeats Lan Zhan, “if I made you up. It makes no difference.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying laughs shortly, his eyes still wide and flat.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You don’t care that you are just hallucinating me?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan swallows. His face feels swollen from crying, and his nose is clogged.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Not hallucinating. You are here. I have touched you. You are… speaking. To me. You are a person. The why does not matter. It makes no difference, Wei Ying.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Don’t be naïve, Lan Zhan, it makes all the difference.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“It does not.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying would look exasperated, if he did not already look like the world was rapidly falling apart around him. “Lan <em>Zhan</em>‒”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying. How do you know?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“How do I know what?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“How do you know you are not real?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying rolls his eyes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“How do you know you <em>are</em>?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I do not,” says Lan Zhan, looking intently into Wei Ying’s eyes, willing him to understand. “That is my point.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying stares at him. His breathing is speeding up again, easily audible in the close space.<br/>
</p>
<p>“That‒ That’s not‒”<br/>
</p>
<p>He breaks off, sucking in a shuddering breath, and then another. His eyes keep darting away from Lan Zhan's face and back again as if he is going to find some answer that was not there before.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying holds out a hand, as if to stop or placate him, but does not manage any words. Small droplets of sweat are forming on his forehead near his hairline. For a moment, Lan Zhan’s vision doubles; there is this Wei Ying, alive and present and in the early stages of hyperventilation, and, superimposed, there is the image of another Wei Ying, from another time, but with the same hitching breaths, the same panicked eyes. Lan Zhan is not sure which of them he is speaking to when he says:<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying. I need you to breathe with me. Can you do that?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying shakes his head. His arms have come up to hug his own chest. Lan Zhan takes a careful step closer, and, when Wei Ying does not move away, another one.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Can I touch you? I am going to touch you now.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He reaches out slowly, so that Wei Ying can move away if he needs to, but he does not. Lan Zhan takes hold of his shoulders and turns him so that they are facing each other.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Now we are going to breathe together. We will start with five breaths, and I am going to count them. You will breathe through your nose. Okay? One‒ through your nose, Wei Ying‒”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying tries, shaking breaths that stutter like coughs when his body tries to wrench back control of the pace. He keeps going back to breathing through his mouth, big gulps of air that sound like he is drowning, and after some hesitation Lan Zhan gently places his right hand over Wei Ying’s mouth, a reminder rather than a restraint. He observes carefully, ready to remove it at once if it seems unwelcome, but after only a couple of wet exhales against his palm Wei Ying is relaxing against it and begins to breathe through his nose. Lan Zhan resumes counting their breaths, and Wei Ying follows the best he can. After the first five Lan Zhan adds another five, and then another ten. Wei Ying is beginning to relax, leaning more and more of his weight against Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan looses the grip on his shoulder and moves his arm to wrap around Wei Ying’s back. After another ten breaths Lan Zhan moves the hand covering Wei Yings mouth, and Wei Ying slumps forward to rest his forehead against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. After another five, Lan Zhan stops counting out loud, but he remains conscious of Wei Yings exhalations against his shirt, the movements of his ribcage. They stand in silence for a long while, breathing in sync. Lan Zhan cannot tell if it is because Wei Ying is still matching his breathing to Lan Zhan’s, or if it is the other way around. It does not matter. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Lan Zhan first met Wei Ying, they were both fifteen years old and Lan Zhan believed he was going to be a doctor like his uncle. A cousin of Lan Zhan’s was getting married and Wei Ying’s foster parents, as friends of the groom’s family, were attending the wedding along with their children and foster son. At the banquet, the children and teenagers were seated together, separate from the adults, and Lan Zhan was placed next to Wei Ying and his foster brother because of their similar age. At that time Lan Zhan, like most teenagers, was too preoccupied with understanding himself and the role he was expected to play in the world of human interaction to think too deeply about how others dealt with those same questions regarding their own lives. That is why, at that first meeting, he did not develop any real impression of Wei Ying as a person beyond that he was loud, and spoke quickly, and interacted according to patterns that were foreign to Lan Zhan and therefore confused and scared him. They did not speak much beyond a greeting and a single attempt on Wei Ying’s part to make conversation, which Lan Zhan ignored out of awkwardness.<br/>
For a long while after that, Lan Zhan was only aware of Wei Ying in the way that he was aware of distant relatives and friends of his uncle’s: by names, and vague memories from gatherings. Sometimes his uncle or one of his friends would comment on something Jiang Fengmian’s foster son had gotten up to, and Lan Zhan would add this new information to the impression he had gotten of Wei Ying when they met, and not think any further about it.<br/>
Wei Ying first entered Lan Zhan’s life for real when they were eighteen and nineteen respectively and just starting university. By then Lan Zhan knew that he did not want to be a doctor, and his discussions with his uncle on the matter were growing increasingly heated. He was, then, surprised to find that not only had Wei Ying also gotten into med school; he, unlike Lan Zhan himself, seemed to truly want to be there ‒ not for the status of the profession, or because of his family’s expectations, but out of a genuine interest. Lan Zhan found himself having to revise the impression his fifteen year old self had made, and then revise it again, and again, over and over as they grew closer and Wei Ying trusted him with new, hidden parts of himself. They began a tentative reaquaintance during the first month of med school, and stayed in touch even after Lan Zhan switched programs and their only shared class was the ethics class given by Lan Zhan’s uncle. By their second year of university, Lan Zhan spoke to Wei Ying more often ‒ and more sincerely ‒ than he ever spoke to his uncle or even his brother. Lan Zhan felt his world slowly but inevitably rearrange itself; where it had previously centered around him, it was now revolving around Wei Ying, and Lan Zhan was revolving with it like just another planet around a bright yellow sun. He began viewing things that happened to him not from his own perspective, but from Wei Ying’s ‒ what he would think about them when Lan Zhan told him, what parts might make him laugh. He often caught himself preparing the best words to convey a certain experience later even as it was still happening, until it seemed to him that a thing had not truly happened unless Wei Ying knew about it. Lan Zhan only felt fully sure of his own existence when they were together. Sometimes he imagined himself living in a dream world, where Wei Ying was the dreamer and he himself only a figment of the dream, with no existence independent of Wei Ying’s own. At the time it frightened him. He felt as if he was losing his individuality, his self, if ever he had had one. Later, after Wei Ying’s death, it felt like a consolation. It let him imagine that Wei Ying still existed somewhere, asleep, dreaming him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shit,” breathes Wei Ying against his shoulder. Lan Zhan can feel the moist warmth of it through his shirt, condensation from inside Wei Ying’s body.<br/>
</p>
<p>He tightens the arm around Wei Ying’s back and feels it expand and contract with every breath, feels the give of the muscles now that Wei Ying is more relaxed, the unyielding bones underneath. <em>This</em>, he thinks, <em>is a body. Skin, muscles, bones. Blood and breath and moisture</em>. They stay silent a while longer before Wei Ying speaks again. When he does, it is not what Lan Zhan expected.<br/>
</p>
<p>“How… <em>Your</em> Wei Ying. How did he die?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan closes his eyes, almost as if to hide, which is silly. Wei Ying cannot see his face either way. He wonders if he should lie, if there would be a point to do so. He decides there would not.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Barbiturate overdose,” he says quietly.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying blows some air out through his nose, half a sigh and half a snort.<br/>
</p>
<p>“…figures,” he murmurs. Lan Zhan does not ask what he means.<br/>
</p>
<p>They are silent for a moment before Wei Ying makes a sound into Lan Zhan’s shirt.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hm?” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying turns his head a bit so that he can talk without it being muffled.<br/>
</p>
<p>“That’s what the tears were about then,” he says. “Yesterday.” His tone makes it a statement, not a question.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes,” Lan Zhan answers anyway.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mmm,” breathes Wei Ying, sinking deeper against Lan Zhan. “I guess that’s fair then.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, Lan Zhan prompts:<br/>
</p>
<p>“What is fair?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“You had your breakdown yesterday. And now you got to deal with mine, so we’re even.” He sounds like he wants to be joking, but his voice is too tired to hold any real laughter. It is not necessarily a bad kind of tired, Lan Zhan thinks. The room is quiet around them, like it is listening to them breathing.<br/>
</p>
<p>“We are not keeping a tally,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying snorts softly.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Maybe <em>you</em> aren’t,” he says, and Lan Zhan hides a smile in his hair.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m not,” he promises. “You can have as many breakdowns as you wish.”<br/>
</p>
<p>This earns him a laugh, albeit a small one.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Thanks, Lan Zhan. Though I think I’d like to have as few as possible, if it's all the same to you.”<br/>
</p>
<p>They fall silent. Lan Zhan’s back is beginning to tense from supporting part of Wei Ying’s weight for so long, but he does not plan to move before Wei Ying does.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You too,” Wei Ying murmurs eventually, when Lan Zhan has nearly forgotten what they were talking about. “As many breakdowns as you want.”<br/>
</p>
<p>They stay like that for a while, leaning against each other. Wei Ying seems as reluctant to step away as Lan Zhan is to let go of him. Even after they step apart they stay close to each other, through dinner preparations and carrying the food back to their cabin. They eat sitting next to each other on the bed, their knees touching, and then stay there, atop the covers, Lan Zhan reading and Wei Ying drawing again. Lan Zhan keeps looking over at Wei Ying, at his concentrated face, at his hands drawing. On the paper an elephant is slowly taking shape, long curving trunk and floppy ears. He is drawing it mid-stride, a large foot lifted and the wrinkled skin on its flanks stretching and rippling with the movement. It is impressively lifelike.<br/>
This time, Wei Ying does not stay up after Lan Zhan has gone to bed. He crawls into bed next to Lan Zhan and finds his hand under the covers. Lan Zhan threads their fingers together. It takes him a long time to fall asleep. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>That night Lan Zhan dreams of his mother again. They are in the summer house by the lake just like in the pictures from his childhood, except he is not staying there with her, only visiting; he knows this, as one simply knows things in deams. His brother is not there. Lan Zhan stands just inside the door, waiting for his mother to come and greet him. He expects her to be happy to see him, after all these years, but when she finally appears in the kitchen doorway she shows no sign of surprise at seeing him there. She only smiles at him, a little tired and preoccupied, as if he had been there all along and not just arrived. He thinks that maybe he has, but he cannot remember and it does not seem important at the moment. He follows her into the kitchen where she leads him to the sink and gestures for him to roll up his sleeves. Only then does he discover that his hands are covered in dirt. It is smeared thick over his palms and gathered under his fingernails, as if he has been digging in the ground with his bare hands. His mother helps him roll his sleeves up, and the more of his forearms they uncover, the higher up the smears seem to continue, until Lan Zhan realizes it is covering his entire body underneath his clothes. He turns to his mother to tell her, but she is looking intently down at his hands, and he gets a feeling that he is not supposed to interrupt. It strikes him then, while he looks at her, that he is now older than she is. He wonders if either of them are going to mention it. His mother begins to carefully clean his hands and forearms under the tap, rubbing them with her palms to loosen the dirt. Her hands are small like a child’s. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>By late morning, there is a knock on the cabin door. Lan Zhan has been up for hours, but he has been reluctant to leave the room while Wei Ying is still asleep. He does not think Wei Ying would want to wake alone.<br/>
Schneider is waiting outside the door when Lan Zhan opens it, only a small sliver.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey,” he says.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nods. Schneider scratches his neck.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So…” he starts.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan waits.<br/>
</p>
<p>“We wanted to talk to you. Or, I suppose, Noos did. About, you know, the ‒ <em>situation</em>.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Anything in particular?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider is starting to look restless. He looks around the corridor for a moment, then back at Lan Zhan. He nods at the door.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You gonna open that?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan shakes his head.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying is asleep,” he says.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneiders eyebrows shoot up, then immediately resume their usual positions, so quickly Lan Zhan might have missed it had he been distracted.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ah,” he says. “I see.”<br/>
</p>
<p><em>You do not</em>, Lan Zhan thinks. There is a pause.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I… hear he was ‒ upset. Yesterday,” Schneider says, as if commenting on the weather.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Did you,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider clears his throat.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well… So, how about you meet us for coffee, say in an hour? And then Noos can tell us all about how miserable he is, and you can write it down in your little report and everyone is happy, how about that? Sounds good?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“That is fine.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Right. In an hour, then? “<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nods. Schneider nods too, looking distracted.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Is…” he starts. He nods at the dark room behind Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wei Ying is coming,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider nods again, then huffs out a laugh.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Noos is <em>not</em> gonna like that,” he observes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Is that so,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider rolls his eyes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Right,” he says. “Well… See you, then.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan closes the door on him and the brightness of the corridor, but the imprint of the flourescent lights remains on his retinas for a long moment. When he turns, all he can make out in the gloom is the yellow circle of the window through the curtain. There is a rustle of bedding, and then Wei Ying’s voice, quiet and sleep-thick:<br/>
</p>
<p>“…Lan Zhan?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I am sorry. I did not mean to wake you.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hmm,” says Wei Ying. “What time’s it?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“About ten.” Lan Zhan’s eyes have begun to grow used to the gloom again, enough for him to carefully make his way back toward the bed.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mmh,” says Wei Ying again. “Was… I thought I ‒ was there someone at the door?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan sits on the edge of the bed. There is a soft creak as the mattress dips. Wei Ying immediately curls toward him to press his face against Lan Zhan’s thigh. Lan Zhan puts a tentative hand where he thinks Wei Ying’s shoulder is under the duvet.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Schneider,” he answers. “He invited us for coffee.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“…nice of him,” Wei Ying mumbles. He seems half asleep still.<br/>
</p>
<p>“And Noos as well,” Lan Zhan adds. “I am sorry.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying makes a muffled sound against his leg.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Nah, s’fine. I should talk to him anyway. He’s got it all so wrong, poor baby, someone ought to tell him.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Are you sure?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mm, yeah. Thought about it yesterday. When I couldn’t sleep.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan squeezes his shoulder. The room is perfectly still around them, in the way that makes it feel as if it should be the middle of the night, or early morning. It is the stillness of a before, though before what, Lan Zhan does not know. Perhaps it is nothing at all. Even with the air moving slowly in and out of his lungs he feels as if he is holding his breath.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You had trouble sleeping?” he asks.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying pulls away from his leg to yawn before burrowing back in. Lan Zhan strokes his thumb back and forth over his shoulder, mostly for his own sake. He doubts Wei Ying can feel it through the duvet.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mm, it wasn’t too bad. Just, you know. Thinking.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan thinks he knows.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Did you dream?” he asks.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying scrunches up his nose.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I… Yeah. I think so. I don’t really remember. Did you?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nods. Wei Ying rolls over on his back to blink up at him.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Tell me?” he asks.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan swallows.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Maybe later.”<br/>
</p>
<p>On the desk is the drawing from yesterday morning, the one Wei Ying did not want to show him until it was finished. It still is not, but with everything else that happened he seems to have forgotten that he was keeping it secret, or maybe it simply no longer seemed as important. It is a portrait of Lan Zhan, as seen from across a table. His head is tilted forward and his eyes lowered. Presumably he is reading, but the book is not visible in the drawing. You can only just make out the collar of his shirt before the pencil strokes become cruder closer to the edge of the paper. It is a ribbon-tied in a light colour, the kind he used to wear all the time as a student. He still wears them sometimes, though not nearly as often now that he wears a uniform for work. He did not bring any with him to Luanzang.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On their way to the lounge Wei Ying stops suddenly and holds up a hand. Lan Zhan stops too, and looks at him. Wei Ying seems to listen intently for a moment before he relaxes and shoots Lan Zhan a smile.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Sorry, Lan Zhan. I just ‒ I thought I heard something, but it was probably…” He drifts off and listens again. Lan Zhan listens as well, but cannot make out any sounds beyond the ever-present hum of generators one floor below them. Wei Ying shakes himself in a way that reminds Lan Zhan of his brother’s tiny grey cat when she has just slunk inside after a sudden rain.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It’s nothing.” He smiles again. “Shall we?”<br/>
</p>
<p>As they enter the lounge and Noos and Schneider both turn, Lan Zhan has a flashback of his very first morning at the station. It has only been a couple of days, but the memory feels old, at least as old as his memories of Wei Ying by the campus fountain, if not nearly as cherished. He has a moment to wonder whether Schneider has told Noos that Wei Ying was coming, and what his reaction is going to be if not, but the look on Noos’ face when he spots them betrays no surprise, only something that might be resignation and might be something else entirely. He is standing by the farther wall, facing them, with a cup of coffee clutched in front of him like a shield. Schneider for his part looks more relaxed, if not entirely at ease. He is pouring himself a cup of coffee, not his first from the look of the cup, and raises the pot in greeting or perhaps offering.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Dr Schneider,” greets Lan Zhan. “Dr Noos.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Dr Lan, Mr Wei,” says Schneider in the same tone, in that way of his that is neither entirely mocking or entirely sincere.<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos says nothing, but his eyes are attentive. Behind Lan Zhan’s shoulder, Wei Ying stays quiet.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Coffee?” says Schneider, raising the pot again. He has been holding it since they entered. “I also took the liberty of making a thermos of tea, if anyone’s interested?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Thank you,” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider nods toward the end of the pool table.<br/>
</p>
<p>“s’over there. I brought cups, too. And you, Mr Wei? Coffee or tea drinker?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Coffee, please,” says Wei Ying politely.<br/>
</p>
<p>His tone is soft and there is no smile in it. Lan Zhan risks a glance over at him, afraid of what he might see, but Wei Ying does not look uncomfortable, or nervous, or angry. He looks calm and collected. Focused. Lan Zhan has seen that look on him before, while solving some problem or other, once even handling a real crisis, but he has never seen it this way, politely directed at other people. The lack of a smile ‒ real of feigned ‒ on his face is unusual enough to be disconcerting.<br/>
Lan Zhan pours himself hot water from a large, battered thermos and picks up one of the teabags Schneider has left in a pile on the pool table. The green synthetic fabric that covers the surface of the table is worn, even ripped in a couple of places that Lan Zhan can see, and very stained. He unfolds and lowers the teabag into the water, and turns with the cup in his hand just in time to catch Wei Ying’s eye as he takes the first sip of his coffee, carefully so as not to burn his mouth. His face remains that unfamiliar, serious one, but just as his eyes lock with Lan Zhan’s they narrow slightly. It is the smallest movement, hardly enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes and certainly not enough for the other two occupants of the room to notice, but it is there and, as far as Lan Zhan can tell, entirely genuine. Lan Zhan feels his own face respond in a way it seldom does even to the largest of Wei Ying’s normal smiles, his jaw relaxing and his mouth falling open just a fraction. He feels something he cannot remember feeling for a long time, perhaps not since he was a child ‒ a kind of certainty that everything will be alright, that someone he trusts will make sure that it is. For a second, despite everything, he feels completely, perfectly happy. They stay in that moment, stretching it out for what feels like a long time until it finally breaks and Wei Ying turns to look in Noos’ direction, but there is a warmth left in Lan Zhan that fades only slowly, like the imprints that remain on the retina after looking too directly into a source of light.<br/>
Schneider clears his throat.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So…” he says, trailing off.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan turns to Noos, who is still standing near the wall eyeing them. He straightens up slightly when the attention of the room turns with Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You wished to speak to us, Dr Noos?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos scoffs, although it does not seem entirely confrontational, or even necessarily derisive. Lan Zhan cannot really decipher it.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I wished to speak to <em>you</em>, Dr Lan.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nods for him to continue, but Noos does not seem to know how to begin. His posture is aggressive, but without aim. He reminds Lan Zhan a little of a cornered animal, like a deer he once saw by the highway, stuck on the wrong side of the fence, and it is that comparison that finally makes him realize that Noos is frightened. Lan Zhan makes himself walk over and sit in one of the armchairs that line the walls, closer to Noos but not enough to be uncomfortable. Noos remains where he is.<br/>
</p>
<p>“About something in particular?” he prompts. “Do you have any new information to provide?”<br/>
</p>
<p>He can hear steps behind him, and when he looks Wei Ying has come to stand by his shoulder. His face is still serious, but he rests his hand on the back of Lan Zhan’s armchair, and he seems calm.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ah,” says Noos. He looks between the two of them. “Ahah. So that’s how it is, then. I <em>see</em>.” He nods to himself, decisively. It looks almost theatrical.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan waits. He wonders if he is going to have to prompt him again, but before he can decide how, Noos says:<br/>
</p>
<p>“So what now? Are you going to shut down the station or what?”<br/>
</p>
<p>His tone borders on aggressive. Lan Zhan is careful keep his face and voice blank.<br/>
</p>
<p>“That is why I was sent here. You knew this. You have not been helpful.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos rolls his eyes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>I</em> haven’t…” he mutters.<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan cannot hear how the sentence ends. He waits.<br/>
</p>
<p>“And now you’re on their side, then?” Noos says in a louder voice.<br/>
</p>
<p>He nods towards Lan Zhan’s right shoulder, where Wei Ying’s hand is still resting on the back of his armchair. <em>I was not aware there were sides</em>, Lan </p>
<p>Zhan is prepared to say, but Wei Ying cuts in before he can.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Which side would that be?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos does not answer. Wei Ying repeats himself.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I am not speaking to you,” Noos mutters, without taking his eyes off Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying snorts.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yes, that is very obvious, thank you.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Which side would that be?” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos scowls at him.<br/>
</p>
<p>“The planet’s?” says Wei Ying. “The being that you have spent the past ‒ ten? ‒ years trying to communicate with, that side? Is that what you mean?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I am still not speaking to you,” says Noos, but Wei Ying is talking back almost before he has finished speaking.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh, relly? That’s funny, considering it could be seen as part of your job description."<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos stares at him. It is unclear to Lan Zhan whether he is still anxious, or frightened, or simply confused. When he still has not said anything after several seconds, Wei Ying lets out a breath.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Do you really not get it, Dr Noos? How long have you been here, anyway? Ten years?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos still does not speak. Schneider clears his throat.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It’s, eh, seven, right? You replaced Dr Perez, didn’t you? So, seven then.”<br/>
</p>
<p>This is new information to Lan Zhan, but then he did not spend much time on the older records fot this case. It does genuinely pique his interest.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What about you, Dr Schneider?” he asks. “How long have you been here?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider waves a hand dismissively.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh, since forever. Must be going on twelve years now. Time flies, and all that nonsense.”<br/>
</p>
<p><em>Twelve years</em>, thinks Lan Zhan, unsure how to feel about it. Twelve years can be a lot of time. Twelve years can feel like no time at all. Schneider’s tone is deliberately light, but he looks like he had hoped to be left out of the conversation altogether.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying says:<br/>
“And what progress has been made during that time? On communication, I mean.”<br/>
</p>
<p>The question is directed towards Noos, who looks as if Wei Ying has gravely insulted him.<br/>
</p>
<p>“We have made several attempts att communication. The planet is not responding, at least not in any way that can be interpreted as communication.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Interesting,” says Wei Ying. “Then, how would you define communication?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos lifts his eyes towards the ceiling, as if he is asking some deity for patience. Perhaps he is.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well, I would not interpret the mist’s purely chemical responses to radiation as communication, for one thing.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Okay,” says Wei Ying in a tone that clearly means <em>go on</em>. Noos sighs.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Communication, as understood by linguistics, is the act of <em>deliberately</em> conveying information to another being. For that to work, both sender and recipient must be sentient, and aware of the <em>other’s</em> sentience. And the sender will obviously endeavor to formulate their massage in a way that the recipient might understand, since that is the whole point. We have not seen any attempts like that from the planet, none at all.”<br/>
</p>
<p>We Ying laughs.<br/>
“If that’s how you define communication, I can’t see how you were expecting this planet to say anything at all. Why would it have learned how to deliberately convey information anyway? There’s only one of it!”<br/>
</p>
<p>“All sentient life forms we know of have developed communication,” says Noos.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, all other life forms we know of reproduce, and this doesn’t do that either, does it?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying looks at Schneider, who nods in confirmation. He, like Noos, looks a bit taken aback; if it is by Wei Ying’s reasoning or by the fact that he is reasoning at all, Lan Zhan does not know.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So we’ve already established that it’s obviously not behaving like life forms back home. But you were expecting to, what, get to analyze its phrase structure? Like, seriously? That’s like, I don’t know. Like knowing it doesn’t reproduce and still expecting it to, I don’t know, try to have sex with you if you flirt with it enough. Like, why would it even want to?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Schneider lets out an incredulous huff of laughter, while Noos looks intensely uncomfortable with the comparison. Lan Zhan clears his throat.<br/>
</p>
<p>“When did the… <em>visitations</em> start?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos stares at the floor and does not answer. Schneider takes a swig of his coffee.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m not sure,” he says after swallowing. “Two years, maybe. Three? I think your friend Dr Nie had been here a few weeks when it first happened. I don’t remember if it was before or after the radiation experiment, but somewhere around that time.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying raises his eyebrows.<br/>
</p>
<p>“And… none of you considered that maybe <em>that</em> was the communication attempt?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Neither of them answer.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wo de tian ah,” mutters Wei Ying under his breath, and Lan Zhan rather shares the sentiment. “What, because it doesn’t have grammar?” He rubs a hand over his face and laughs a little to himself. “Wow, this is like trying to explain the concept of money to A-Yuan!”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan’s heart does a double take at the mention of Sizhui, but Wei Ying is looking between Noos and Schneider ‒ Noos by the far wall and Schneider now leaning against the pool table with his cup of coffee cradled in both hands ‒ and does not notice.<br/>
</p>
<p>“We…” says Schneider while Lan Zhan tries to drag his awareness back from Earth and the things that tie him to it. “Look, Mr Wei, I see your point. And maybe we should have thought of it that way earlier ‒ I mean, it must have crossed my mind once or twice, but ‒ what you have to understand is that for the past years some of us have been busy just surviving. Hell, Dr Nie wasn’t even that lucky. Not all of our visitors have been as ‒ pleasant ‒as you.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying snorts.<br/>
</p>
<p>“<em>He</em> doesn’t find me pleasant.” He points with his thumb at Noos. “Yesterday he told me he wanted to kill me.” He smiles, but only with his mouth. </p>
<p>Noos tenses, his fingers flexing on his cup of coffee. He is tilting it almost enough to spill, but his eyes do not leave Wei Ying for long enough to notice. Lan Zhan thinks, in that moment, that he has never found another human being so repulsive.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I don’t think you need to worry about that, Mr Wei,” says Schneider. “It doesn’t seem like any of you can actually die, so he wouldn’t succeed either way.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying blinks.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Great,” mutters Noos.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying recovers his footing quickly.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Okay. Anyway, I’m not‒ Look, I’m not saying it’s all your fault for not realizing, okay?” He directs this to Noos. “I mean, I’m guessing you were sent here to learn the planet’s language, which they assumed it would have, because it’s a sentient being and all that, except of course it doesn’t because it’s only one individual and presumably it hasn’t been talking to itself.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Noos closes his eyes and takes an audible breath. Then he turns to look Wei Ying properly in the eyes.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So what do you propose we do, then? Should we just direct any questions for Luanzang to you instead, is that what you mean?”<br/>
</p>
<p>His tone and body language are mocking, but the question seems at least partially sincere.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No, that’s not‒ Anyway, I don’t have any knowledge or memories outside of… I mean, I couldn’t answer any questions anyway. No, I think, if anything, it’s more about the fact that I appeared here at all.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“So that’s where we should start looking for meaning, then, you think?” asks Noos. “We have to figure out why it started sending you?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying sighs.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No, I‒ Look, my point is, even if there <em>is</em> a meaning, even if it’s actually trying to tell you something, it’s, like, <em>extremely</em> unlikely that whatever it was trying to say would even make sense to you. Not because you couldn’t decode it, but because <em>the message itself</em>‒ like, how would it even determine what sort of information would be relevant to humans? What if it’s been talking to you all this time and you haven’t realized because all it’s been saying is, like, <em>‘hey look, dust’</em>? But, honestly, I think it’s more likely that it’s not trying to communicate at all. It might be a kind of investigation. Like, maybe this, and <em>me</em>, maybe it’s just probing you to see how you will react. Or maybe I function as a kind of eyes for it, like, maybe it can share my experiences in some way, I don’t know. But either way, my point is that it’s probably not trying to talk to you, and even if it were, whatever it said likely wouldn’t make sense anyway. While <em>you're</em> an expert in language, and I mean, it’s not your fault that Luanzang likely doesn’t have one. They never should have sent a linguist to begin with. Maybe they should have sent a philosopher.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He chuckles a little. Noos does not smile. He is staring at the wall beside Lan Zhan’s armchair as if he is reading someone’s graffiti. His jaw works slowly, as if he is chewing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey,” says Wei Ying when the two of them are walking to the kitchen to make lunch, or perhaps a late breakfast since neither of them have eaten yet today. “When he said…” He trails off.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hm?” says Lan Zhan.<br/>
</p>
<p>“When he said that I can’t die. What did he mean? I mean, how does he know that?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan hesitates.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Apparently they… tried. In the beginning. And they came back to life.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Oh,” says Wei Ying, and then, “How?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I do not know,” says Lan Zhan. “I got the impression that Schneider did not really understand it either.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Huh.” A pause, then:<br/>
</p>
<p>"Did <em>you</em> ever..."
</p>
<p>"No!" says Lan Zhan as soon as he understands what Wei Ying is asking. It comes out louder than he means it to.
</p>
<p>Wei Ying's eyes flick over to him and then back again.
</p>
<p>"Alright," he says.
</p>
<p>They are quiet for a moment.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So, say, if I ‒ if something happened and my body was, like, completely ruined, would I just… reappear? Like, exactly the same?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan’s chest tightens. He tries to keep any emotions out of his voice when he answers.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I do not know what would happen to your recent memories. If they would still be there, or if… I do not know.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey, maybe it’s like in a videogame. Like, if something didn’t go my way I could just, you know, say ‘fuck it’ and try again.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Don’t,” says Lan Zhan almost at the same time as Wei Ying says:<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey,” and stops. Lan Zhan stops as well. “Okay, this time I’m almost sure I heard something”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan listens, but he cannot hear anything out of the ordinary.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Okay, no, now it’s gone. Weird.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“What was it?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“It… really sounded like footsteps.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Could it have been the echo?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“No ‒ I mean, yeah, it probably was, but it didn’t sound like our footsteps. More like… It sounded like a child. Anyway, maybe I’m just… yeah.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He smiles a little wryly and motions for them to keep walking again. They do.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I guess I was just… thinking about A-Yuan,” says Wei Ying “Before. Like, him running around and stuff. I don’t know. Hey, he would be almost grown up now, wouldn’t he? I mean if, you know.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“...Eighteen,” says Lan Zhan, because he does not know what else to say.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Wei Ying muses, “that sounds about right. Wow, that’s <em>so</em> weird to imagine!”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan still does not know what to say. There is too much. For another minute, nothing can be heard but their footsteps.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I don’t blame him, you know,” says Wei Ying.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mm?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Noos, I mean. I get it. He’s just scared. I don’t think he’s a bad person, really.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mm,” says Lan Zhan, because that is likely true. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They clean up after their meal standing side by side in the kitchen, Lan Zhan by the sink and Wei Ying drying and putting everything in a pile to stow away later. Sometimes their shoulders bump, and Lan Zhan thinks of asphalt walkways and takeaway coffee cups and tiny snowflakes catching in Wei Ying’s hair like glitter. There is a break in their pace when they get to the cast iron pan, and Wei Ying turns and leans back against the counter with his elbows resting on the countertop.<br/>
</p>
<p>“So,” he says while he watches Lan Zhan work on the pan with a wire sponge. “What are you going to do now?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hm?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“After you finish closing down the station. I’m guessing you’re going back to Earth?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan pauses in his scrubbing to look at Wei Ying’s expression, but he has shifted his gaze and Lan Zhan cannot read much from his profile. He wants to say <em>No, I’m staying</em>, but he does not. He is not going to make promises he cannot keep, neither to Wei Ying nor himself. He thinks: <em>I do not know if you can exist without me</em>. He thinks: <em>I do not know if </em>I<em> can exist without </em>you, except he does know. He existed without Wei Ying for thirteen years. He says:<br/>
</p>
<p>“Why?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying shrugs.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I was just thinking. Like, what happens when you leave. ‘Cause, I’m here because of you, right? That’s, like, the deal. So I was thinking, maybe I’ll just flick out of existence when you go. And, well… I thought that seemed kind of neat. Like, I probably wouldn’t even notice.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan finishes with the pan and hands it to Wei Ying, who leaves it upside down on the countertop to air-dry. Then he turns back to lean against the counter again.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Or, at least I probably wouldn’t… pop back again. You know, if I… died.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan reaches into the oily water to pull the plug. There is a gurgling sound that remains for a few seconds after the last of the water has disappeared down the drain. Lan Zhan turns to face Wei Ying while he grabs the dishtowel from the countertop and dries his hands. Wei Ying is staring into space, and Lan Zhan cannot tell what he is thinking. There is a question on the tip of his tongue, something he is afraid to ask but more afraid not to. Something he has had thirteen years to regret not asking last time. <em>But</em>, he thinks, <em>what would I have done if he had told me?</em><br/>
</p>
<p><em>Do you ever have the right to keep someone where they do not want to be?</em><br/>
</p>
<p>“Do you wish to die?” He is surprised at the steadiness of his own voice.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wei Ying keeps staring straight ahead, towards the industrial size refrigerators along the far wall of the kitchen. There is a small furrow in his brow. He takes a moment before answering, and Lan Zhan tries to ignore the cold sweat that breaks out across his back.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Wei Ying says slowly, as if he is figuring out his answer as he speaks. “No. I don’t think so.”<br/>
</p>
<p>He pauses, but Lan Zhan can see that he is still thinking, so he waits.<br/>
</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think so,” he repeats eventually. “I mean, I’m here now. I might as well… Yeah.” He shrugs and finally turns to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes, one corner of his mouth turning upwards just slightly. “Might as well. You know?”<br/>
</p>
<p>Lan Zhan nods. He knows.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>SPECIFIC SPOILERY WARNINGS:<br/>There is mention of a past suicide (wwx's) and the substance he used. Another suicide occurs at the station before lwj arrives and there is a description of the appearance of the corpse, though nothing too graphic. There is also continued discussion of death and some rather suicidal thoughts expressed by wwx, and these never get fully put to rest. And above all, there is a lot of existential angst regarding wether or not the 'resurrected' wwx is the "real" one, some on lwj's part but more on wwx's own.</p>
<p>Some final notes:<br/>- You may have noticed that Noos and Schneider are NOT the original names of these characters. You are completely right. I felt, while writing, that I was changing enough about their personalities and actions that it made more sense to just rename them and pretend they were some sort of semi-OCs. Both of their new names are bad puns based on their old ones, because apparently sometimes I think I'm funny.<br/>- I realize I may have made it sound like I hate linguistics, which is definitely not the case. I love linguistics. I study linguistics. There <em>are</em> some areas of semantics which I, just like wwx, find kind of nonsensical, but I am fully aware that this may well be because I haven't understood them yet.<br/>- I have SO much headcanon for this that didn’t make it into the final product. Maybe someday I will write a sequel, but for now I am just happy to have managed to actually follow this idea through from start to finish.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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